The last few years, Mother’s Day has been tough. Every year, you think, “Well obviously next year I’ll finally be able to celebrate,” and then, nope. Nothing. Empty arms. Still a useless baby maker.
And so, if this is the boat you find yourself in (again, or for the first time) feel free to stop reading now, and know that you’re not alone.
My first Mother’s Day was full of carbs, coffee, and chicken.*
Also there was a baby in a tuxedo when I woke up (after sleeping in, whaaaaaaat?! Husband of the year.)
Oh, and?! Emeralds! Everywhere!
It was a wonderful day, and Gus and I obviously need to bring our A-game next month for Father’s Day.
*I feel compelled to add, we don’t normally just eat plates of bread and potatoes, but given my dairy restrictions, my on-the-go breakfast options are limited, and Mike was trying to get everything together before I woke up, and I’m weird about how my eggs are cooked, and I wound up with — well, a plate full of bread and potatoes. And it was delicious.