My fetus-free womb used to convulse at the mention of Mother’s Day. At my request, my Mister and I transformed the whole weekend into a celebration of infertility. A sushi banquet would be followed by a jetted hot tub and possible soft cheeses. But Sunday Morning my throat still tightened when they attempted to force a pitying carnation corsage into my fisted hands.
If you’ve held back similarly motivated tears or are struggling to complete your family in any way, perhaps you should read about Laurel.
Feed me fashionably fresh
