When someone asks me if I have kids, I struggle to answer. The technical truth is no, but that doesn’t tell the whole story.
For decades, I was sure I’d be a mom. I wanted it more than anything in life, but at age 44, with two divorces and three ex-stepchildren, Mother’s Day brims with anxiety. How can I explain that I sort of was a mom once, but now I’m not? That those children, who I have no claim to, are still part of my life? And that their mother, the ex-wife of my now ex-husband, who I was never supposed to like, is now my friend, and one of the first people I honor on this holiday?
