Yesterday Evening

. . . we went to mass. It's our new rhythm, so I can go to T'ai Chi class on Sunday mornings.

As we walked in I was handed a prayer card with the legend, "blessings to you this Mother's Day" on it. As mass ended we were told that the cards had been given to the mothers in the parish, and I was embarrassed. I do look like a mother, of course: I'm more than old enough.

The Annual Ritual of Humiliation happened then, with the mothers in the church standing for a special blessing. I placed the prayer card in the little rack in the pew that holds the hymnals and misselettes. My husband retrieved it as the prayer went on and on: bless mothers and grandmothers and birthmothers. Finally: bless those who are trying to become mothers. I was crying by then, but only my husband could tell.

I simply cannot see why this is necessary: this is a holiday invented by commercial interests. Why would a church buy into it? That's just my head talking. In reality it's a fine thing to do: thanking people who do a job that's difficult and ofen underappreciated. But my heart aches.

I'm not one of those infertile women who cannot even go to family gatherings if children are going to be present. I still like being around children. But every now and then the pain catches up with me. My former roommate is pregnant now with her second son, and it seems, yes—unfair. This pregnancy is all my friends want to talk about, probably because some of them don't understand why anyone would want to have kids at all. But pregnancy is something I'll never experience again. When the baby comes it'll all be water under the bridge, but at present the whole thing still twists a knife in me.

As we leave church my husband takes the prayer card I had tried to get rid of out of his shirt pocket. "Happy Mother's Day," he tells me. "This should be the last year you have to remain sitting."

"Next month," I respond, "let's find out when, exactly, they are going to celebrate Father's Day, and just ditch church that day. I don't want you to have to go through this." I blink back tears. "At least they remembered birthmothers: this weekend has to be even more painful for them."