The Post About Being Sorry I Am Not A Mother

Yesterday was Mother's Day.

I gave my Mom flowers as a gift. I like the kind that don't die. They simply take up residence in your digestive tract.

Butter cake pops with marshmallow flowers.

My brother and I cooked dinner. He and my mom did most of the work. It was awesome.

I was wished "Happy Mother's Day" several times throughout the weekend. I couldn't decide which of the following were true:
a. I'm of child-bearing age and I have a motherly way about me.
b. I'm of child-bearing age and I appear to be carrying some baby weight.
c. I'm of child-bearing age and I had Cookie Crisp, Fruit Roll-Ups, and chocolate milk in my buggy.

I countered one well wisher with "I don't have any kids." The cashier promptly responded "Ahhh...I'm sorry." I gently smiled and shrugged and continued to browse through the Pop Tarts.

And then I thought "Am I sorry too?" 

Maybe I should have a kid I can dress like me and hold hands with in the park and snuggle and teach about the sarcasm emoticon (@@). It would be easy peasy and nothing but good times.

Then I remembered you. And your tweets. And your instagrams.

And my favorite Kidstagram of all time.

Thank you for reminding me that motherhood is overwhelming-joy-in-the-heart. And work.

{images: The first one is Jamie. The rest are yours.)