I am not a mother by choice. At two points in my life, I did consider it. The first time was during my first marriage, when my (now ex) husband and I were separating and he offered that up as an apology of sorts to me after he prematurely initiated the divorce. That was a hard NO. 

Get ready to play

The second time was after I was divorced and contemplating how I would enter this next phase in my life, according to my terms.  I thought that I could be both a great single mom and have a career and live in Manhattan and go on dates and enjoy my friends.  Once I decided to start fertility treatments, it was all systems go. At my age, I was playing Beat the Clock (I was 40), Press Your Luck (nothing is guaranteed) and The Match Game (to find a suitable donor pop).  

I was lucky enough to have a wonderful support system with an inordinate amount of encouragement, including some financial assistance from a would-be grandma.

I did the shots, peed on sticks, and drank more Gatorade than an entire football team. After one round of IUI, I didn’t get pregnant. By this time, I had met an amazing guy and was realizing the new trajectory my life would take. One that was child-free.  And that was more than okay by me.

None of this is easy

So, every year, I get a little irked by those that automatically wish every woman a Happy Mother’s Day. Even my doorman, who has never seen me with a child in the two and a half years we’ve lived here, wished it to me! Has it become as ubiquitous as “Merry Christmas?”  This holiday is not easy. And to those who have lost a mother, or don’t get along with their mom, or who really want to be a mom but aren’t able to, I see you and wish you love and peace.

My mom

Since it’s Mother’s Day, and this is a blog about family, I couldn’t not talk about my mom. I can write volumes about her. A chapter for each year of my life; each event in my childhood that was punctuated by her presence. That would take forever, and we don’t have that much time. Instead, I’ll say this:  Every day that goes by, I see myself becoming my mom. I’ll catch myself making some exclamation about something. (This is usually because I’ve caused some type of mild injury doing an insignificant household chore). As the sounds are coming out of my mouth, it’s as if I am Arlene.  When I tell her these things, she laughs. She’s laughing because she knows -she’s become her mother, my grandma. This inevitability must be accepted. Even Progressive Insurance knows this.

The last thing I will say is that despite suffering a catastrophic loss when my father died, I still feel like I’ve led an extremely lucky life, because I have a mom like her.