What the Days Were Like
On Friday night, Ruth sent me a quick email in wishing me a happy Birthmother’s Day, perhaps in response to my wishing her a happy Mother’s Day, and letting me know that they were working on photos, but it might be awhile. When we woke up on Saturday, my husband said “Happy Stupid Birthmother’s Day,” which really spoke to me where I am. On his way into the shower, he asked how I wanted to celebrate today, if I do, and I said “I want to celebrate tomorrow. Today? I should go to the bank, I guess….” And then I tried to put together the crib, which, boy. I did not experience success. Part of that was not having an allen wrench, but a bigger part was staring at it with no clear concept of how that one half would get stuck to the other bits. I listened to Hole’s Live through This, an album which I now hear as speaking to the birthparent experience, and cried. A lot. I’ve always been a big Hole fan (not so much on the solo Courtney stuff), and always liked that album the best, but used to hear it more as what it is: straight up feminist anger. I didn’t used to cry, is what I’m saying.
My parents and my sister Kate and her husband sent me cards; the parents included a check and a suggestion that we go out to dinner. An Aunt sent me a very sweet Facebook message, saying among other things that “I hope you find your own way to celebrate your unique and special motherhood.” Mr. Book worked from crazy early to early afternoon, so I made cupcakes while he was gone. Now we’re going to go out for dinner, and I wish everyone reading who celebrates a happy Mother’s Day.