Well, it’s about time!  I wait all year long for this one day that is all about.. .ME!  Yes, that’s right.  This is the day when I get to sleep in, have breakfast in bed, and be waited on hand and foot.  Yes, waited on.  Well, I’m still WAITING.  Perhaps that’s what the term means.  It means waiting on your husband to come notice you.  Waiting for the laundry and dishes to do themselves.  Or waiting on your children to remember who gave birth to them.

I can recall almost every magical moment in my childrens’ lives.  First tooth, first day of school, first girlfriend/boyfriend, first break up, etc.  I can tell you what they liked to eat every morning for breakfast, what they liked to do in their spare time, and pretty much relate all the things they hated over the years. 
Yet the one day of the year when all I ask is for them to remember me, to remember to pick up the phone and call, they forget.  Yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself.  I have the stretch marks, sagging boobs, and flappy legs to prove that I had children.  I just want a little retribution … is that too much to ask?  Am I being selfish?  Perhaps.  But again, this is the one day of the year when I’m allowed to be.  My husband got up this morning and I mentioned having breakfast made for me, and do you know what his response was?  “You’re not MY mother.”  Lucky thing I didn’t have anything close by to throw at him or else I’d be wallowing in self pity in a jail cell somewhere for spousal abuse.

So to all you mothers out there, have a great day, be spoiled and let the house work pile up (which means more tomorrow, but for today let’s pretend it’s a day off), and for goodness sakes spend at least five minutes remembering why we became mothers in the first place….sitting back remembering….

…..darn those defective condoms……..


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