Not Me! Monday! Episode 2

Literally, this was not my first Mother's Day. It was technically my third as we celebrated the first one before Daniel was born in anticipation of Mother's Days to come. It was alright. Well, let's face it. It was pretty terrible. My usually really-good-about-stuff-like-this husband announced to me at 4:58 on Saturday night that he "figure(d) he better get something for (his) mother for Mother's Day." I calmly informed him that I already had her a card from Daniel, that we were buying breakfast in the morning, and that he had approximately 4 hours to figure something out for this mother before he was in trouble.

It was not me who spent the entire day Sunday waiting and hoping that my husband would spring a surprise Mother's Day treat and/or announcement on me, e.g., "I'm sending you to the spa next weekend," or, "Here's your card (which happens to include a gift card to your favorite nail salon)," or, "I'm taking you out for sushi tonight." It was not me who announced at dinner that no, I wasn't mad (literally) because I understood that he had been busy with finals, preparing for his presentation, and anticipating his mother's visit. It was not me who put on a happy face and tried really hard to convince myself that all of these things were true (which they are) AND that I was really ok with it. I guess in all actuality, yesterday wasn't so bad. It was today that really got me.

Today, it was most certainly not me who spent the entire day fighting back tears to the point of a severe headache. It was not me who kindly and sincerely responded to Mother's Day e-cards, e-mails, and texts through blurred, teary vision. It was not me who went to my best friend's house and cried while sitting in her glider because Mother's Day had gone by without my husband recognizing me in any way, shape, or form. It was not me who cried through "The Wheels on the Bus" as I drove home from my best friend's house.

I'm not usually the kind of girl to get worked up over stuff like this. For whatever reason, it really, really stung this time. When Doug finally got home, it was not me who cried and cried and cried trying to explain to him why I needed him to recognize me yesterday. It was not me who finally came to the conclusion that no matter what he did or said, I was still going to be hurt.

And last but not least, it was certainly not me who poured my heart out in this blog only to disable the comments. It's one thing to cry to the world, but to hear them cry back is another altogether. So thanks for reading and even though I didn't give you a choice, thanks for not commenting.