How My Weekend Went

I have to admit it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

Except the part where I was sick. Friday night I could not stop throwing up. It continued through the morning until about 11:00. It was horrible. I even peed my pants because I was vomiting so hard. Thank goodness I had a near empty bladder. I was still feeling queasy when I left but after drinking a Coke I felt much better.

I arrived at my dad’s bar at two on Saturday to meet up with everyone. It was supposed to be a birthday/Mother’s Day dinner for my mom with all her daughters and granddaughters. My older sister TJ and her daughter Tabby couldn’t make it because they are always busy. Dako, Dee, H and Bug arrived shortly after I did. H said my sister Jae would meet us at the OG because she had to go to a birthday party in town. I thought it was strange because she was at her house when I drove past a few minutes beforehand.

So we arrived and were seated shortly. My mom had a watermelon martini and complained about not being able to taste the vodka. Jae sent H a text message saying she was leaving in a minute. Then ten minutes later sent one that said she wasn’t coming. I think we were all kind of relieved that she wasn’t going to be there. My sister likes to cause drama and is a bit two-faced.

We laughed a lot, ate plenty and just had a good time. I’m so glad we did this. I know my mom really enjoyed herself too, which was the whole point of the day.

On Sunday, I got up and headed to church. Even though I knew it would be a rough day, I still went anyway. A few teenagers got up and gave talks. I find it amusing that when kids give talks, they read in this monotone voice straight from the article. After the first two talks and a introduction from the new elder, the Primary children sang a few songs about mothers and families. I started tearing up. I couldn’t help it. I just sat there thinking about how I don’t have anyone to call me Mom.

Another monotone talk was given by one of the Young Women, then a man got up to talk about the sacred role of motherhood. I broke down and had to leave before I started bawling. It didn’t take me long to calm down and was able to catch the closing hymn and prayer.

The children handed out a gift and a paper flower to all the women.


That little purse thing is adorable. It holds a bottle of hand sanitizer.


Some of the ladies who know about our problems came over after sacrament meeting to give me hugs and words of encouragement. They are some of the loveliest people I know. Since I was an emotional wreck, I left right after sacrament meeting. I let myself bawl in the car for a few minutes before heading home.

K got home about 1/2 hour after I did (he was at his annual opening of fishing boys only weekend up north). He came up to me and gave me a big hug and asked if I had gone to church. He just hugged me tight when I said yes and started crying again.

He’s a wonderful man. He came home early just because he knew I would be having a hard time with it being Mother’s Day. What a gem I have for a husband.


Mother’s Day and facebook

I hate going on facebook when Mother’s Day is coming up.


When I see those type of posts, they bring a huge mix of emotions for me.

Anger: Not everyone who is a mom gave birth to their children. I feel that by you saying that you gave birth, you are automatically a better mother than I am. Frick and Frack were 15 and 11 when I became their bonus mom. Just because I missed out on their younger years doesn’t mean that I don’t love them just as much as if they were mine right from the get go.

Sadness: Of course, trying to have a baby is emotional enough without being bombarded with statements like these.

Grief: It just tears my heart thinking about my little ones who never had a chance to pee or puke on me, be rocked to sleep in my arms or look at our smiling faces.

I have stretch marks, a flabby belly and saggy boobs from trying to become a mother. (Fertility drugs are hard on your figure.) I don’t think my body is ugly or that these are reminders of what I don’t have. I just see beautiful me, someone who is a mother, wife, friend, lover, and would never trade my “battle scars” for anything. They are an everyday reminder of the strength, courage and grace I have to have to battle with infertility.