I had to think a moment, and then realized it's 10. I've had ten Mother's Days. There were 10 years before of being married without children, so many of those spent waiting and wanting, so many Mother's Days spent at church breathing in the scent of the flowers being passed out to the mothers in the congregation, and almost passing out with longing. Wondering when god-time would become my-time, questioning whether it ever really would.
And then, on a cold day in northern China in 2002, G, bundled in sweaters and padded jacket and pants, so warm she was sweaty on the top of her head, came into my arms, making me a mother at last. Five years later, Rosie, flushed and equally well-padded, completed the circle. I don't know how it's possible that ten years have passed, although I do know I have inhaled all the hugs, kisses, joy, responsibilities, frustrations, and blessings of motherhood in great hungry gulps.
Every Mother's Day, I think about those who want (adults and children alike) and pray for god-time to come at just the right time, and hopefully soon.
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