Wrapping Paper & Rotten Appleslaying a Christmas dream to rest
As I’m wrapping the many gifts that will be exchanged in the following week I’m thinking there can’t be any more, I have to be done. Except I’m not because Oh! Look – There’s that bag I had stashed and forgotten about!
We’ve been lucky this year – the blog has afforded us a bigger Christmas than usual. Brands started recognized that you, the reader, actually care about what I have to say, about my opinions on just about anything – toys included. By the way, you can check out all the awesome brands I’ve worked with this year in my year-round gift guide!
The kids are getting 6 gifts from Santa, pajamas from Mrs Claus, and 2 gifts each from us; The kids have also each purchased a small gift for each other, their cousin, and their grand-parents. 50 gifts, all told, with the nice paper – the bows, and ribbons and all that crap.
50 fucking gifts I’ve been begrudgingly wrapping because the past week has been a special kind of hell.
Annabelle took a shit on my carpet. The kids have been cranky. Apparently I’m the meanest mom in the world. Because instead of working or doing Santa duty I’ve been cooking up a storm of chocolate bark for teachers and friends, meticulously melting chocolate and candy canes into the perfect seasonal treat to share. And I expect them to be asleep before midnight. Mean, right? The worst, I tell ya!
In between all this shitting, and wrapping, and baking Annabelle decided she wanted short hair and took to the scissors while drawing peacefully at the table. So I’ve just spent 3 hours in a shopping mall on the last Saturday before Christmas getting an emergency hair cut for a 4 year old who just wanted short hair. And thought taking matters into her own hands was better than telling me.
Yet… as I stab another piece of tape on an unruly corner of paper that refuses to cooperate I think back to this time last month.
At my age…. I don’t even remember when I last had a pregnancy ‘scare’. And ladies, you know, right? Until that stick turns blue you shut your pie hole and suffer in silence… because you don’t want the mindless, carefree, impulsive, sex that sends your toes curling to stop should The Man decide he is freaked out by something that may not even be a thing.
But there I was, mid-thirties, contemplating the realities of an unplanned 4th pregnancy. The risk wasn’t ginormous but September’s Gallbladder turned Septic Infection fiasco has made a mess of my cycle and I just couldn’t be sure.
Like ole’ faithful my body cooperated for the first time in months and I was left with conflicting and confusing emotions. Sure, I felt relief… I’ve always wanted a 4th child but now is not the time or place to even contemplate that possibility.
Surprising still was the wave of sadness and grief that washed over me. Grief at the loss of the child that never was, that never will be. The child I dreamed of a lifetime ago; a baby to soothe and nurse and love to the ends of the world and back.
A tiny life to sustain by the grace of God is a miracle that though unplanned and certainly inconvenient would have brought a ray of sunshine in an otherwise shitty situation.
But this child I speak of exists only in dreams of past and life moves on.
I sip on my G&T while carefully placing wrapped packages under the lit tree and I spot something in the corner of my eye. Upon further investigation I discover a half-eaten apple rotting away under the couch. A half-eaten apple covered in a few locks of hair, likely from today’s scissor experiments that sent me in a mall this close to Christmas.
And let’s be honest. This week’s fiasco has proved once again that I’m not the most patient person in the world and I’m certainly no spring chicken so it’s probably for the best that we’re laying the dream of a 4th baby to rest.
So I sit back and take a moment to be thankful for the life I have today and the many blessings the universe has provided. My Christmas wish to you is that you can do the same. Celebrate the joy of the season with loved ones, honoring the memories and traditions of those who are with us in spirit.
The magic of Christmas heals the heart and warms the soul. It gives us hope for a new season in life, if slightly more seasoned than the last.
And when that tear rolls silently down my cheek as I finger the gentle fabric of a newborn sleeper I will remind myself there’s not much left to my pelvic floor. That after being pregnant or nursing for 6 years I’m finally – finally! – getting an average of 5-6 hours of sleep nightly, a rare treat after all these years. That this precious 4th bundle was not mine to have, that I am blessed with three wonderful, bright, amazing, rays of sunshine we call daughters.
That some dreams belong to a lifetime long-ago lived.