Stripped of my title once again

I have been having a hard enough time accepting the title of mommy when I don't think I've earned it, but it's different when someone in the outside world actually says that I'm not a mom and truly means it.

I've been at my current job almost two years, so all of my co-workers have been riding the bumpy pregnancy roller coaster right along with me. Well, they've riden enough of the ride to know what Mike and I have been through and enough to know that a little bit of tact and compassion aren't too much to ask from them right now.

When Ryan first died, my boss told me to take as much time as I needed and to not worry about work. He didn't need to tell me twice! You see, he's an asshole - simply put. I have never asked this self-centered, hypocritical bastard for a favor of any sort, so when he granted me unlimited leave, I wasn't about to question him or his motive. In my book, I was owed that time off. I had earned it, in more ways than one.

I spent eight weeks home after Ryan's death. That's it.

Sure ... maybe I didn't have dirty diapers to change or bottles to prepare during those eight weeks, but I was far from doing nothing. I was recovering from my C-section, which was a bigger deal than I had ever thought it would be. And, the biggest healing of all: trying to recover from the devastating and unexpected death of my newborn son.

I thought all of my co-workers understood this - especially the gal, DD, who I work with directly - but I was wrong.

DD made a comment three days after Ryan's memorial service that she couldn't understand why I wasn't back at work ... it's not like I was doing anything. I didn't have a baby to take care of or anything.

Excuse me?

Apparently, me being a grieving mother wasn't justification for taking an "eight-week vacation."

Yet again, I'm reminded how I've supposedly taken advantage of a perk reserved for real moms whose babies haven't died.