"I'm too small for Twister. And, roller coasters. And sitting with my feet on the floor. Hope you enjoyed the prenatal cigarettes, Mom."

My first mother’s day I was still pregnant with G, and had to work. So I was able to ignore the weird “you’re not MY mom” spiel J was spouting off that he learned from his father. The second however, I was sleep deprived, massively hormonal, and squooshed into a room in his parent’s house while my husband worked long hours 7 days a week for months on end to build our house. Which I greatly appreciated, except on Mother’s Day. I was going to go into great detail, making a list of all the ways he failed at such epic proportions it has not been achieved before or since. I might still be bitter. But in all honesty, it’s not who he is. That mother’s day was completely out of character for him, because despite his voluntary tourettes and inappropriate sense of humor, out of the two of us, he is much more sentimental than I. The knick knacks, figurines, cards, pictures and mementos have a much greater chance of surviving if given to him rather than me. I enjoy my surfaces too much. Clean spaces unadorned by things I’m required to dust. Also I’m emotionally stunted. Same with houseplants. Now, it’s a little known fact there was a time when I had the greenest thumb ever; my living room was FULL of plants that were happy and thriving. I named them. No shit. I gave them all names, and knew what they were. I think I had some leaking maternal instincts or something. Then I moved to The Ghetto House with my ex and got super depressed, and they all died. Either because of my extreme neglect or because the cockroaches ate them. Or maybe the air was just full of death. Who can say? Except for Spike, who was our unimaginatively named cactus, the other names were better; I must have allowed someone else to name that one. It eventually died as well, most likely due to our plant eating cat I did not want in the first place but managed to get in the break up anyway. Now? I don’t have the time or space, if left to me, they will die, and I will feel bad. Luckily for the ones we have my husband takes care of them. Except for my Orchid. This fucking thing. My MiL, recognizing how much her son was about to fuck shit up I bet, or perhaps because she’s a nice woman who did get the love figurines/houseplants gene, got it for me on the first mother’s day after G was born. I thought it was beautiful, but when all the flowers fell off it was just kind of a….plant. You know, leaves in a pot. It started to look a little sickly and not at all happy so we transplanted it, bought it some fertilizer stuff and I remembered to water it more regularly so it came back and looked healthy but still no blooms. Then it started doing this weird roots growing out of the pot thing, which is creepy because roots are supposed to be in the pot and sometimes while I wash dishes I stare at it and I picture long vines growing out and coming to get me. I’m already in therapy people, don’t worry none about me. Until the end of February of last year. It was a long winter for me. Really long and depressing, and I was kind of drowning under all of it. Losing Little T two days before Christmas, and I’d been So Sick with him while pregnant. It rained a lot, it was cold and I think it snowed like once a month despite our usual once a year if that record. Which meant our electricity kept going out, and it just sucked ass you know? So having that plant flower right then was awesome. Absolutely beautiful. They eventually fell off, and none grew back. Until the beginning of January, then it started to bloom again. This is what we have now. TA DA!! I’ve never seen one with 2 stems of flowers before! This plant is tripping me out. I’m so happy it was given to me. I wonder if I should name it? ~~~~~~~~~ I’m really missing my babies lately. Like a more than normal. They keep popping in my head, especially Little M. Did you know he loved when I ate nacho cheese? Or was milk intolerant like his sister and dad, one of the two. Either way, he’d dance and dance every night when I ate it. I just wanted to take a moment to send into the universe that I love and miss you babies. Every day. I may not write it, or say it out loud, as often as I should, but I promise I do. I think about you all the time, and I miss you constantly. Not what you could have been, or should have been, just you. The little beings made with love that I carried in me.