Minor Epiphanies 2.2

On the sad Mother's Day bingo card

If you’re anything like me, the last thing you want to see is another email or title with the words “Mother’s Day.” But here we are.

After I had a heartbreaking miscarriage in December 2021, I honestly didn’t realize Mother’s Day had anything to do with me. I’d always associated that day with my own mother, Baba, grandma, and most recently, my mother-in-law.

In early May 2022, my husband and I explored Amsterdam. One Sunday, we caught a bus to Keukenhof to see the tulips and spent the day alternating between two states: admiring the flowers and getting frustrated at the busyness of the place. It felt like being stuck in the slowest parade amidst stunning, vibrant nature.

Once we had wifi, I read thoughtful messages from friends who mentioned they were thinking of me on Mother’s Day. My thoughts:

1. Damn. No wonder the Keukenhof was so busy. We chose the WORST day to look at flowers!

2. Oh shit. I’m supposed to be sad today.

Tulips to the left and throngs of people to the right

This Mother’s Day is indeed more sad, but maybe it has to do with my frustration more than anything. After a long break, we started trying to conceive again. The last seven months have held an exhausting rhythm: bleeding, frantically testing for an LH spike, trying, and trying to stay hopeful during the infinite two week wait.

I’ve noticed that brands and people are trying to be more inclusive and considerate about Mother’s Day. You’ve probably received dozens of marketing emails too, asking if you’d like to opt out of their Mother’s Day promotions. I want to reply: “Can I also opt out of miscarriage? Can I opt in to an easy conception and healthy pregnancy, birth, and baby?” Opting out of a few emails doesn’t do much for me.

And these kinds of images are rapidly spreading across social media:

A sample Mother’s Day bingo card.

Typically, I love inclusivity, but I find myself cringing whenever I see such posts. I went on a passionate rant about it in front of my husband, which usually signals that I need to gently ask myself, What’s really going on? Why do I prefer the uncomplicated Hallmark version of what Mother’s Day is expected to be?

My annoyance isn’t with inclusivity. Instead, it’s probably about the current reality of my bingo card. That being said, I have conviction that this situation will turn around. I’m taking off a cycle or two to regroup and find my sense of trust again, and that feels like the best gift right now.

Hopefully next year, Mother’s Day will be more joyful — for me and for anyone else who is hoping for that 💐

This Minor Epiphany recommends:

My favourite poem: “Caesura” by Erin Rodini.