I survived Mother’s Day relatively unscathed.

In a testament to how far we’ve come on our journey of coming-terms with infertility, Mr. Fab bought me flower and vegetable plants for my garden and told me they were a Mother’s Day gift from the cat. This is the first time he’s been able to say something like that and the first time I’ve been able to hear it without one or both of us sliding into a dark place. I call that progress.

I saw additional progress when we decided to go out for gelato and I noticed a sign announcing their Mother’s Day offer of a free scoop for moms. I decided I was okay with that, that it was a nice gesture, and that there was no need for me to kick up a stink about cruelly excluding those of us who didn’t get to be mothers. I ordered the two flavors I wanted and left it at that. And then…

“Do you want a third flavor?” asked the young, unsuspectingly girl.

“No thanks,” I said.

“We’re offering a free scoops for moms.”

“I know. I saw your sign.”

“Are you a mom?”

Beside me, I felt Mr. Fab brace for the storm. But I’m past all that, remember? So I shook my head, no.

The young girl made an apologetic face and finished scooping my TWO flavors.

“See where honesty gets you?” Mr. Fab muttered.

“Next year, I’m going to lie,” I said.

And this may be my tactic from now on. I’ll need an elaborate story to explain why I’m not with my kids on Mother’s Day, then I’ll just going around lying my head off, and gathering up the Mother’s Day swag.

I’ll report back next year on how this goes and how I actually feel about telling this particular whopper. I’ll also let you know if this is real progress or if my prior sadness and anger has just turned passive-aggressive.

For now, it’s Whiny Wednesday. If you’re still feeling the sting from this weekend, feel free to let it all out here.