As I walk past the card shops, florists and gift stores, there is a disconnect in my brain. The many Mothers’ Day adverts still make me think of my mum and my mother-in-law and I’m normally several steps beyond them before I realise that’s me now too.
I’m a mum. And I’m so grateful.
I don’t know much about the origins of Mothers’ Day, but I know most western countries dedicate one day a year to celebrating mums. Largely I’ve viewed it as the greeting card industry’s money-making scheme. But in my experience as a daughter, mums are great and well worth celebrating so I have always willingly partaken in said extortion.
But there is another side to this day. A much sadder side, experienced by those who have lost mums, long to become one, or had their opportunity taken away through the loss of a child. For these people, I can only imagine how hard tomorrow will be.
When we were trying to conceive, I would look around at other mums on Mothering Sunday and cry on the inside. And perhaps a blog detailing the successful fertility journey of a new mother is not the place to be writing about this. But if you are reading this and that is you on Sunday, please know that I am thinking of you.
“The Child Who Was Never Born” by Martin Hudáčeka