Today in America, mothers are asking to be people

Just now in the grocery store, a mother yells at her teenager for sneaking items into the cart. A woman in her fifties chuckles. I unload the applesauce and diapers and tummy control shorts and tell the 20 year old behind the counter to never have children. Motherhood is a scam, I tell her, with just enough of a smile to make her think I might be joking.

It’s the Friday before Mother’s Day. Four days since we have known for sure that Roe is ending. Four days is not enough. In our world it is barely enough time to wash and fold laundry. In two days time we are expected to smile and be gracious and stick hand-drawn cards on the fridge. We’re expected to keep going, keep caring, keep working when all I want to do is unravel.

Mother’s Day has always been about the assertion of our personhood. From its founding in the anti-war movement, it is a cry into the night that our hopes and griefs should count.

The lady ahead of me at the store has a three year old sitting in the cart. She is piling chocolate chips and heavy cream on to the belt. It’s her job to make the dessert for Mother’s Day lunch. The three year old fusses and kicks. She sighs.

My friend texts. Her husband has forgotten to get his mom something and can she stop at Target on the way home? My husband texts. He wants to go fishing on Sunday.

It feels as though there is a ball of yarn in my stomach. Every time I read the words of Justice Alito or get reminded of my state’s abortion ban, more yarn gets added. It becomes larger and denser. I feel it may consume me. My silent rage will grow until my flesh and skin cannot contain it. The same feeling happens when I think about Mother’s Day. All the women giving their husbands subtle hints about gifts and flowers. All the women just wanting one morning to themselves. All the women who have rolled from parenting to grandparenting to eldercare without a breath.

Emails from Planned Parenthood tell us that we need to prepare to fight as though I am not already fatigued from battle. The woman ahead of me places a Best Mom Ever mug next to the chocolate chips. I wonder if she’s buying that for herself and if so, then I want to be her friend.

Twice this week, I left work early to go to pro-choice rallies. From the podium, I told a crowd of students that this isn’t just about ending a pregnancy when you don’t want one, it’s about recognizing that pregnancy and motherhood are significant. Our bodies change, our earnings are permanently lowered, and our happiness decreases. And then we turn on the news and hear a man we’ve never met tell us that entering into this permanent state of being should be mandatory.

The theme of this week, nationally, is “Can mothers be people please?” Can we be cooked breakfast? Can we be given a gift and have it be a surprise? Can we have a day without our humanity being questioned by talking heads on CNN?

Can we get a break please?