It’s Mother’s Day. I don’t have a mother, and I am not a mother.
I am obsessively checking my red and pink geraniums, blaming myself for buds that never fully bloomed. Did I plant them too early in the season? It’s been too cold at night and they love the heat. Did I not water them enough? Did I give them too much water?
I think about my friends who became mothers, some at an early age, others who waited until their 30s. I text them to say Happy Mother’s Day.
I think about friends who had miscarriages.