My mom and I both save our lemon rinds in the fridge for
weeks. We both multi-task when we are on
the phone, organizing sock drawers, ironing, putting address labels on
envelopes. We are both 5’8” and, for
most of our adult lives have sat at 128 pounds until she hit her 70’s and got
out of the habit of eating lunch. We each
had our left ovary removed, although she was 61 years old at the time and I was 40.
We both have thimble sized bladders and hop up and down, running in
place to stop the flow when we have held it too long . We shiver easily even in 68 degree
weather. I have her thin wrists, her
long legs, her high cheekbones and her tendency to want to keep moving. We both make lists, organize clothing by
color in our closets, write extensive notes in our cook books, care about women
in prison and are often touched to tears by kindness, beauty and
injustice.
ΩΩΩΩΩ
A mama Polar bears puts on close to 400 pounds during her pregnancy. If she doesn’t put on at least 220 pounds
during that time, the body will actually reabsorb the fetus. She then goes into hibernation mode while
sitting around in her snowy maternity den, waiting for baby bear to arrive and
often sleeping through the birth. Her
cubs stay with her for 2 years while she tries to protect them and teach them
how to survive and feast on seal pups.
ΩΩΩΩΩ
1980
Dear Mom,
Haaaaaaaaaaappy Mother’s Day! You are the BEST mom in the whole wide world
and I’m not just saying that. Thank you
for being patient with me even though I bang on the piano keys and don’t always
empty the dishwasher when you tell me.
I’m sorry about that. I love you
so much and will try to be a better daughter.
I hope I can be as amazing a person as you are when I am a grown
up.
Love, Mary
ΩΩΩΩΩ
I remember the first time I used a diaphragm, squeezed out
spermicide from a tube and tried to line the edges like the instructions said,
getting it all over my fingers, washing, trying again, embarrassed and
impatient, while he waited, the heat cooling beneath the sheets. Another attempt, the rubbery orb slipping
from my hands, toppling into the sink and into a clump, picked it up,
determined to succeed, placed it where
the sun don’t shine, forcing it to find its spot, feeling like something
was stuck, shifting my hips from side to side, shaking my torso. Is it in? Is
this going to work? I cannot get pregnant.
Does he still have a hard on?
ΩΩΩΩΩ
Hi, Mare. Hi sweetie
pie! I’m calling to tell you I love you. We can’t wait to see you. I
wanted to see how you were feeling. We’re
so proud of you. Have you gone to see
the doctor yet? I’m sending you an
article that I thought you would like. We made that quinoa salad you told us
about. You can call us until 10 O’Clock
our time tonight. We’re dying to hear about the new job. It’s ok to cry. Bad things go away, only good things stay.
ΩΩΩΩΩ
I have never wanted to be a mom. Never cooed over babies or longed to hold
infants shrouded in velvety blue blankets close to my bosom. No desire to be pregnant, give birth, breast
feed. Never heard the tick tock of my biological clock. Yet everything has been in place for me to
conceive – all the reproductive parts a go, (minus one ovary) the cycle in order, the drive intact, the
partner there. I leave homes of friends with young kids,
watch meltdowns in supermarkets, thinking “Thank God that’s not me.” There will be no maternity den, no Mother’s
Day cards, no calls just before 10 O’clock.
My genetic line will end without
fanfare and hopefully I’ll be smiling.
ΩΩΩΩΩ
I cannot imagine a life without her.
