dear naive sweet-eyed girl of 12 hours ago.
i’m so sorry to hear
that your Mother(s) Day
if it’s any consolation,
your husband is surely kicking himself
square in the balls.
and like, you can always “sleep in” when you’re dead.
plus, you have to admit:
he did look pitifully dashing as he apologized on one knee;
(that was a good look for him.)
as for the brunch,
maybe next time, don’t be the “fun” mom.
⅓ of a donut would have been plenty
for your 23-month-old-tornado.
and frankly, we both know you didn’t really expect anyone to go antiquing. so,
why did you have to waste our naptime crying over it?
it would have just been a long car ride,
aisles upon aisles of garden gnomes you can’t afford,
and your adorable offspring running amok.
speaking of which,
i’m sure loads of toddlers crane their necks 180-degrees to avoid affection.
while asking for daddy.
that’s par for the course darling, so
TRY NOT TO TAKE IT PERSONALLY.
and about those lovey-dovey texts you sent to your mom-friends,
(in the early hours)
the fact that mother’s day sucked can be our secret.
you know, i bet a lot of mothers had a shitty day.
a lackluster bouquet,
a tearful glare over a hot bubbly sink,
a voicemail message.
but honestly, beth, try to remember:
in your bones,
in your dark cave of tears and dreams and determination,
YOU are a great mother.
a cherishable mother.
a good sweet l-o-v-e-l-y little mother.
and i promise: today IS an outlier.
SO, all you have to do is choke down a few bites of that chipotle,
and get through the next two hours of god-forsaken-bedtime-story-hell.
tomorrow will be …well… it won’t be today.
so chin up, hon!
you all did your best,
you probably won’t even remember much
(besides the adorable red saucepans, courtesy of your adoring husband)
and… if it’s any consolation,
there’s always next year.
© Poem by Beth Meyer 2019