A Mother's Day, a due date, and a two loaded questions

Mother's Day.  People wish women surrounded by their children a Happy Mother's Day, but they don't mention it to me.  They cannot see the children that live in heaven and in my heart.

Tim knew I was trying to have a good day, even though I was overwhelmed with missing our boys and worry about my own mother.  He surprised me with a ring I've wanted since the boys passed away, engraved with their names on either side.  I was so happy when Miranda came bounding towards me, a ring box tucked away under her collar.

I told him it was my favorite ring, definitely taking precedence over my engagement ring and wedding band. He took no offense.  This ring is more beautiful just by having their names on it.  I especially love the two shades of blue, since I cannot stand their birthstone - a garnet, which is also mine.  I actually love the stone itself, but hate being reminded that they were born in January and not April or May. 

We drove up to Galena on Mother's Day.  This place has special meaning to us: Tim's family has been going there for decades.  It is where he proposed to me and where we go for anniversaries.  The last time we went was on our second wedding anniversary, and I threw up the entire time.  Ben and Conner were in the "gummy bear" stage, where we could see their arms and feet moving around but they looked like squishy little candies. They were just big enough that I couldn't keep anything down, but small enough so that people just assumed I was grossly sick and not pregnant. 

We took in the beautiful countryside.  We were surrounded by beautiful farmland, rolling hills, warm sunlight (despite the weather forecast calling for thunderstorms all day), and random horses and cows.  Tim pulled into a day spa that I love, surprising me with a Mother's Day massage. 

downtown Galena

Galena from a hot air balloon (taken on our first wedding anniversary)

Downtown from the hot air balloon

Our pregnancy announcement picture, taken in Galena by yours truly

We spent the day watching cooking shows (my favorite), laying in bed together, and missing the boys.  Tim took me to dinner, where I was presented with the biggest steak I have ever seen.  Not surprisingly, I ate most of it. We boxed up the rest of the steak and went to Culver's to get shakes (you know, because an appetizer, salad, bread, a baked potato, and steak just is not enough).  While rolling through the drive-through, I ate more of the steak.  With my hands.  Like an animal.  You can't watch cooking competitions all day and not be famished because of it.

Wearing one of the dresses my mom got me

Aw, he was a bit sad his wasn't as big as mine.

We trudged back to the hotel room, where I ate cheddar/jalepeno popcorn, chocolate covered gummy bears, and my raspberry/marshmellow shake (seriously, how am I not fat?).  Tim watched the Blackhawks game and I cried over the boys.  I ate my emotions this Mother's Day, and I am paying for it today. 

This morning, their due date, we had orange juice (which they loved) and bought them four books to read to them. We bought them from an actual book store in downtown Galena.  Remember those?  I love my Kindle, but there is something about walking into a book store that just makes me so happy.  The smell of the print on the thick pages, the weight of the book in your hands, and the feeling you get when you find just the right book is just one of the best kinds of nostalgia.  My mom says I've been reading since I was a toddler and would sit there and read books cover to cover, while she tried to get my brother to sit still.  She warned me of how rambunctious boys were when we found out we were having not one, but two little guys.

I thought that maybe I would be just fine today; after all, there was no way that I would have made it to my due date with twins.  OBs induce at 37 or 38 weeks with twin pregnancies, so this actual date would have meant next to nothing had Conner and Benjamin come in April as we originally planned.  But as soon as we got home from Galena, I was overwhelmed.  I started snapping on my husband. I threw a temper tantrum because it was too hot in the house, stating that now I would have to throw away my FET meds because they were in too warm of an environment.  I broke down, screaming that I hated being home.  I threw my shoes. I went into the boys' nursery and cried. I was acting like a two year old, and I didn't care.

So I guess this day hurts me more than I thought it would.

Tonight we're having spicy pasta with parmesan cheese, because we have this feeling that the boys would have loved pasta (maybe not of the southwestern chipotle variety, though).  We're going to watch a Disney movie for them and read them their new books. But even though I am doing these things for my angels, I wonder:

Am I a mother?  I've always been adamant that I was one. I promised my boys while I was holding them that they would always have a mama.  Just because they are no longer here on this earth does not mean that they are no longer with me.  It doesn't mean that I have stopped doing things for them.  Everything I do is for them.  My love for them is not less because I will never hear them call for me, never feel them hug me, or never sooth their aching cries.  To say I am not a mother would be to call my little Conner and little Benjamin motherless, and they most certainly are not.  They have parents.  They are not alone.

But yesterday, only five people told me Happy Mother's Day.  Five.  I'm actually pretty sure more people texted me Happy Mother's Day last year, even though I was not one then.  No one even asked me at breakfast, the spa, dinner, or the myriad of other places we went yesterday if I was a mother.  But left and right, I heard strangers telling each other Happy Mother's Day.  I don't feel like a parent.  I got robbed of being able to raise my children.  They were robbed of a childhood with me, adult years with their own families, and aging years with their grandchildren.  I can't breastfeed them, impart motherly advice to them, kiss scraped knees, or even take more pictures of them.  I am mother who feels like she is not deserving of the title.

Why?  Not even why me, but why these boys?  Conner and Benjamin are completely innocent.  They were born too soon, unable to even take in more than a few breaths.  They never opened their eyes.  They barely moved.  They didn't get to meet their aunts and uncles.  Ben was already gone by the time my parents got the hospital.  WHY WHY WHY?  You should have taken me, Lord, but not my boys.  They deserved a chance.

Conner and Benjamin, my little minions/sweethearts/future dirt eaters, I miss you more than you will ever know.