Happy mother's day

The boy lost one of his favorite toys.  Andrew and I had looked for a week, under things, over things, calling every store and library we'd been to (that was mostly me) and we still couldn't find it.  As a last weird resort, I decided we should look down the heat grate.  The grate comes off easily and the boy has taken it off several times.  I thought vacuuming down there would somehow get a large plastic toy out.  It didn't work, but the boy had fun anyway.

It was a cold rainy day.  Hopefully the the last of the season.  Beef stew sounded good.  The boy thought it sounded fun to play with. 

Now the fun stuff is out of the way, I've been thinking about something someone said a couple weeks ago, about mothers.  It wasn't complementary.

You know, my pregnancy was tumultuous.  I didn't know I could get pregnant, and so it was a surprise when it happened.  And then, between the statistics of miscarriages in the first trimester, and my geriatric age, and then his development issues, I spent about 6 months out of the 8 I was pregnant thinking I wouldn't be much longer.  And then the day he was born, it was because if he hadn't been, there "wouldn't be a baby to take home."  I had about an appointment every other week, and an ultra sound at almost all of them.  

Thankfully I had good insurance, access to good healthcare, a reasonable employer, general good health, and a consenting supportive marriage.  A lot of things many women don't.  Even so, it was difficult.  

And after all that, it still could have ended sadly.  Like if that last appointment had been 2 hours later, or if I'd missed it for some reason.

And it isn't a big leap for some people to make, from an unsuccessful pregnancy to "conspiring to murder a baby."  It's a heartless statement from a heartless man.