Mother's Day

This was our second Mother's Day since Leah and I decided to make a baby.

I think it would be a difficult day for Leah, anyway. She teaches elementary school, and so she spent two days this week helping her students celebrate their own mothers. Even the grocery stores sprout special displays reminding shoppers to remember their mothers.

The day is fraught for me, also, but in a very different way. My parents divorced when I was in eighth grade, and my dad remarried ten years ago. I've been saddled with a mother whom I am too much alike. I struggle with showing my appreciation for her bringing me into the world and helping me become the person that I am, but also with being honest about how I feel about the person she's become in the last few years.

Yesterday it was 102 degrees in the Valley of the Sun, where we make our home. Mom decided that she wanted to celebrate her day by grilling seafood. Her four children were to gather at the trailer park where her partner lives with his father from three o'clock until six-thirty. There was to be a beach theme.

When she called me to let me know the plan, she said that she planned to cook seafood. She knows that we've been trying--I sat her down with my grandmother when we first were going to try artificial insemination, but we haven't given her an update since October. At the end of our conversation she asked, delicately, whether she should have some chicken or steak on-hand for Leah. I appreciated her asking.

We bought my mother's present and card on the way to the park, a gift certificate for a pedicure and one of those long cards with rhymes and cartoon rodents and a pop-out hug at the end. Leah signed the card in the car, and I was sitting in the parking lot figuring out what to write. After a couple of moments, I decided "LOVE YA, MOM!" was the appropriate sentiment for the moment and stuffed the card into the envelope. Leah saw what I wrote and said, "That says a lot," as I affixed the little golden seal.

The day was hot but fine. I saved the shrimp appetizers from burning on the grill. I drank five or six small margaritas to propel me through the afternoon. I cooked the long, pink side of salmon, which I was afraid to eat.

Finally we opened presents. Mom sniffed over the pound of Starbucks' Cafe Verona from my youngest sister, Sally, in a good way. She'd heard of the spa where Leah and I had procured the gift certificate. Apparently they were known for their exotic designs. The second child, Anne, after me, brought two bags. One for my mother and one for our grandmother later that evening.

Anne is two years younger than me. She was an indifferent student through high school and never finished the community college coursework she enrolled in some years after high school. She works as a kind of office assistant. She married five months after Leah and I did, originally setting their date 364 days after our wedding. She and her husband knew each other for six months before becoming engaged. He is a mechanic.

When my mother unwrapped her gift, it took a couple of moments to figure out. It was a heavy chrome frame with spaces for five photographs: a large portrait in the center and four small heart-shaped spaces in each corner. Inside the central area a blue square of construction paper was framed. The glare from the sun on the glass made it difficult for everyone to read at once, but eventually we deciphered the message:

"HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY FROM THE DUNLAP FAMILY: ANNE, NATE, AND ONE ON THE WAY!"

My sister is nine- to twelve-weeks pregnant. Her tentative due date is Christmas time. My mother started crying. She understood why Anne wasn't eating any of the seafood.

The announcement didn't hit me like a punch to the gut. Time didn't slow down. There was no rush of adrenaline. What immediately went through my mind was, It's still very early, there are plenty of things that could go wrong. I am not proud that this was my first reaction.

While many were cooing and congratulating, I folded my hands at the picnic table and prayed desperately for grace, for myself and for Leah. Leah put on a good show, but we left minutes later, before Mom could bring out the Boston creme pie she'd bought.

There is a part of me that's happy for Anne. All I think she's really wanted to be was a mother. Up until now she and her husband have gathered around themselves a menagerie of animals (two Labradors, two ferrets, a chihuahua, salt-water fish, a horse) that I imagine are vessels into which they pour their love.

The larger part of me is angry, betrayed, disappointed, and frustrated. My other sister, Sally, understood immediately how we felt. She looked at Leah and asked if she wanted to be the first. It's easy to feel like we deserve this more. We're better educated, have more financial security, and have been working for this more.

The sad thing is that none of that matters.

We're still praying for grace. When Leah got home, she called her mother and sobbed on the phone with her four half and hour. Sandy must have been worried, because she called back twenty-five minutes later to make sure that Leah was okay.

We are allowing ourselves a little bit of time to indulge some of our uglier urges. We've decided that while we might not have the first baby of either of our families, we'll certainly have the best one. Leah is committed to holding onto twins. I am spending not inconsiderable amounts of time thinking of redneck names that Anne can name her child. When we calm ourselves down, we know that it will probably be a good thing for our children to have older cousins to pal around with. Especially considering how precocious our children are likely to be.

We are going to be taking some time off from family gatherings from the time being. We understand that people are going to be excited, even if we can't share in it right now. We'll come back to the fold, but for the moment we feel pretty alone in this project.

At least we have each other.