Mother's Day is another few days off yet, but I already know what I'll be unwrapping on Sunday morning.
"Mama," said my five-year-old this week, "we planted beans, for our moms, for Mother's Day! They're at school!"
The second the words were out of his mouth, his face fell in dismay.
"Oh," he said. "Oh, Mama, forget. It's a special surprise, so forget, OK?"
I promised him I'd forget, but I haven't; truth be told, I'm counting the days till I get my budding little bean plant. It's a perfect gift.
I'd be lying if I said I've never eyed up a pretty ring or fantasized about a spa trip (who among us couldn't use a few hours of being pampered) but, deep down, I'm vaguely uncomfortable with the whole event.
I already won the motherhood lottery: two full-term (though challenging) pregnancies, two safe deliveries (bonus points for the good fortune of being a mom in a developed country with a relatively fantastic health-care system), and two healthy children who've landed in the hospital for stitches, slipped elbows and bad fevers, but nothing significant or life-threatening.
Like I said, I won the lottery. Now I want a special day on top of it? Feels greedy.
In my circle of friends and acquaintances, I can think of a half dozen women who have struggled - in some cases for years - with infertility; others who have faced the spectre of losing a child due to serious childhood illnesses; and those who have lost an adult child in accidents or to disease.
In the last few months, I've seen a dad have to take over as the sole parent after the unexpected death of his spouse, and another family watch as their mom fights cancer.
Over the years, as a reporter, I've also had the very sad honour of telling the stories of people who have graciously shared their lives with me: the grief of SIDS, the fear of extreme premature birth, the struggle of life-limiting birth defects, childhood cancers and diseases.
When Mother's Day rolls around, there's a tiny part of me that's wondering if I'll get breakfast in bed but a bigger part of me that aches for those who won't.
I don't know what it feels like to celebrate a Mother's Day wishing for the chance to hold my own baby, wishing I could undo a car accident that took my child, wishing I had a cure for cancer, wishing we could leave a hospital room, wishing that things were different.
Not knowing what those things feel like is already a bigger gift - equal parts genetic good fortune and simple pure luck - than anything I could expect my children and husband to show up with on Sunday morning.
This year, when you're out on the weekend, be patient and gentle with the people around you, and take an extra moment to smile - one of them could be struggling invisibly with a grief that you can't understand and don't want to experience.
When I wake up on Sunday, I hope I am filled with awe and gratitude for my good fortune, with compassion for others, and with appreciation for the little things - like bean plants and five-year-olds who can't keep secrets.
And I hope you are, too.
Christina Myers is a stay-at-home mom and former longtime reporter with the Burnaby NOW. See www. burnabynow.com for her past articles or find her at www. twitter.com/ChristinaMyersA.
