Mother's Day has been a minefield for me over the years. As year after year passed with no pregnancies or, worse, failed IVF and early miscarriages, I dreaded Mother's Day.

I'd send off my cards and host brunches, but inside, a piece of me was wailing and hiding from the pain of not being a mom on this day of all days of the year. Often I'd hide in my house, not wanting to have to be out and about seeing mothers with their children, celebrating being a mom, celebrating their joy while I was falling apart inside from grief and fear that I would never be able to celebrate this day.

I very clearly remember Mother's Day of 2012. Trip and I were at a hunt test in rural Maryland, right on the Delaware border. It may even have been Delaware, actually. We left around noon Sunday to head home and decided to stop about 30 minutes or so away at an IHOP type of place to grab brunch.

Trip was parking the car as I walked in to get us a table. The waitress greeted me with a huge smile and a very enthusiastic "Happy Mother's Day!"

I nearly crumpled to the floor. No, I am not a mother. Wait, I take that back. I was a mother for about two to seven days more times than I care to think about. I have been close to being chosen by a birth mother a couple of times by now, only to have her either change her mind or choose someone else.

In fact, I've been trying to be a mother for 10 years now, but I am not actually a mother... and I am terrified I will never be one.

But, instead of saying all that, I simply smiled and let her lead me to a booth while I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand while I willed the tears to stay back.

As soon as Trip got to the table, I excused myself and all but ran to the bathroom to finally release the tears. The pain. The fear. The crushing agony of this day.

I made my requisite phone calls that day then hid away and waited for Monday to arrive. Glorious Monday.

That day sticks out in my mind so vividly for many reasons. In addition to those above, it is also because it was the last Mother's Day I spent NOT being a mother.

We learned about Kennedy's pregnancy on my dad's birthday (July 11), and were chosen by our birth mother the next day, on July 12th. Kennedy was born 2.5 months later, on September 22nd.

And then, just like that, I was a mom. Me. After 10 Mother's Days, I was a mom.

Ironically, Mother's Day 2013 found us back at that same hunt test, in that same either Maryland or Delaware place. Only this time, I had Kennedy with me. And that afternoon, Trip placed a huge bouquet of flowers on the window of the car for me to find.

And when we were driving home, I asked if we could stop for brunch. At the same place. On Mother's Day. As a mom.

And I walked in with Kennedy and graciously accepted the "Happy Mother's Day" greeting as we were led to our booth.

But this time I didn't hide the tears. I let them flow. I let them flow down my face for all the babies that weren't to be. I let them flow for all the months and years of no babies.

And then I let them flow onto me and Kennedy, joining us in gratitude and love for the baby I was meant to have. The baby that made the wait and the pain finally make sense.

The baby, the child, that made me a mother.