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.

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

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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.

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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.