In a film, it would go something like this: The camera would be located in the drain of the sink, looking up towards me. My little box of jewelry is balanced on the porcelain between the two double sinks. I’m in a hurry, packing for a business trip, madly trying to untangle the bracelets from the earrings, from the necklaces. You’d see my frizzy blond halo of curls, brow furrowed
Lavish bouquets, brunch, mimosas, jewellery, mushy cards, and dinner at your favorite restaurant…. all this and more are the hallmarks of Mother’s Day. A single day in the year when we honor the selflessness and sacrifice of our own mothers and as our role as moms. Commercials capitalize on the pride and power of the mothering connection. Advertisers like Dove and Proctor and Gamble know exactly how to tug on our heartstrings, and
I’m not pregnant anymore. I have heard these words repeatedly at The Nook. And from women friends. And family. There is a beautiful, wise woman whom I have had the pleasure of meeting this year and she described it this way… “It is like a secret society basically, and you don’t really know how many people are a part of that secret society of miscarriage and pregnancy loss until you
