First, cheers to all my peeps who know and appreciate the downside spectrum of the mid-May Sunday-palooza, which can run the gamut from mildly grating to downright painful.
I'd all but forgotten about this newly carved out space due to recent distractions, but then the second Sunday in May rolled around.
I'd done a pretty good job of not thinking much about it this year. I purchased and mailed something to my mother well in advance of the commercial onslaught and didn't get nearly the volume of disingenuous promotions. (Curiously, more than one retail entity, screenshot below, broadened the promotional appeal to encompass a larger population.)
The optimist in me wondered: could the past decade-plus of pushing back on "mom-centric" pro-natalist messaging be getting through? The cynic in me said: with the world's economy under greater pressure they don't want to discriminate against any sales target.
Last Friday, though, I was on a short, flat terrain walk to protect my ankles (while on a new round of prednisone, ugh!) with a relatively new friend when Mother's Day weirdness hit like a sledge hammer.
While strolling along in conversation, I saw a woman coming the opposite way on the path. The three of us first connected a few years ago on local environmental issue advocacy. My energetic companion, who has an abundance of acerbic wit and an all-around delightful personality, is also a little hard of hearing. (She's some 15 years older than me, which means she came of age when Gloria Steinem and the second wave feminists were in their early days. This newer pal is childfree by choice, but remarkably empathetic about my infertility experience.)
When our paths crossed with the other community member, we all struck up some small talk. As the encounter came to a close, the third woman continued on before stopping to shout: "Happy Mother's Day!"
Startled, I simply waved goodbye. After years of working alongside us, did this woman really not know neither I nor my companion, also a published writer with easily accessible bios, had no children? We'd never mentioned it overtly, but we'd also never dropped children into a conversation (she had). Moreover, a simple online search would have put any doubts to rest.
My somewhat-hearing-impaired friend hadn't heard the enthusiastic sign-off. While I know she would have had a choice retort if she had, I didn't bother to clue her in. Once again. I realized that society's default, even now, is to assume that such a casual aside wouldn't harbor any barbs.
It did, albeit, not as sharp as years gone by.
The prednisone may well have sharpened the emotional jab. So, yep, I'm on another 12-day course, day 10 this morning, in a desperate attempt to turbo charge the reduction in my bi-lateral ankle inflammation.
That sign-off is bad enough, but excusable if people genuinely don't know we don't have kids. When people should know, or probably know and forgot, or were so wrapped up in their own world that they never bothered to know, it is frustrating. Glad you had a lovely walk with a new friend who sounds awesome. And I love the Happy Mentors of Many Day greeting too.
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