There are things in life that you should do. Because they are the right thing to do. And because they are the socially acceptable thing to do.
Like sucking it up enough to wish your own mother a Happy Mother's Day.
Yet this year, for the first time ever (including the really hard years during infertility), I didn't have it in me. I. Could. Not. Do. It.
It wasn't a terrible day. I avoided the usual social media triggers. I went out and about shopping for a few things for our upcoming trip (though I'm not going to lie, I purposefully selected checkout lanes with early 20s appearing males figuring they were the least likely to wish me a Happy Mother's Day). I had a long chat with Sarah. Despite the fact that she has a fuckton of stuff on her plate right now, Cristy made it a point to check in on me throughout the day. And I got several other texts or emails from friends made through blogging but don't have blogs themselves.
But despite all of the love and support from friends there was an intense feeling of being different, especially when it came to my family. I was caught in the middle of a group chat with my mom and my sisters. Messages were flying back and forth. Plans for the day. Pictures. Descriptions of gifts. Not one big hurt, but 100 little hurts. And not one inquiry about me or how I was doing.
As the day wore on, I knew I couldn't call. Or even text. I didn't have it in me. I cried a little. Hubs reassured me that I didn't have to do it.
I've heard that my mom's feelings are hurt, so there will probably be fences to mend when we talk next.
The day is not about me, nor will it ever be. And I'm not trying to make it about me. But I don't think it's asking a lot for my family to realize that the day might be difficult for me and to cut me a little bit of slack.