"Twas four days before Christmas, and lately I can't sleep. I lie in bed and stare up at the wooden beams, one cat curled up at Dave's feet and the other snuggled in the crook of my right arm. "Man, it sort of feels like we are living in Noah's Ark.....and also, people are so kind to bring neighbor gifts over, what am I going to make to reciprocate? I haven't done neighbor gifts for so long....did I get the kid's gifts shipped out on time? Oh no! What about Bronson?! I totally am too late to get anything to the Philippines in time for Christmas. I'm the worst mother ever. Maybe a package will at least get to him in time for his birthday next month. Birthdays....Conrad, Andrew, Natalie....all of them with birthdays in December. What on earth was I thinking?! I turn over onto my left side and readjust my new pillow; the cat following me to also readjust herself into the crook of my left arm. I fluff the pillow and find the coldest spot on it, and open the window above my head another couple of inches. The icy air drifts over my cheek and I close my eyes again. "I wonder how I can make this place feel Christmas'ey in just under a week? I keep seeing cute ideas for garlands made of dried citrus rings, or fabric bows. I remember that one year Mama had Joel and me string popcorn and cranberries with needles and thread; it kept us busy for hours, and I think we only got about two feet made since the popcorn would continually split and break off. Nah...never mind homemade garland. Besides, since our large pre-lit tree really didn't fit in here and only half of it lit up anyway, we went and bought three teensy living trees from Home Depot. So tiny they'd probably only hold one foot of garland each." I told Dave we can plant them after Christmas and they make me perfectly happy. Happy.
What about that tiny living tree Mama brought home years ago....why was I so bratty about it....and now here I am doing the same thing. I swear I'm just one step away from my Grandmother's felt wall-hanging Christmas tree. The air is getting too cold, so I reach up and close the window but not latched shut (just in case I'll need to open it again). Andrew's birthday is next. The "twenty-tooth of December". That's what the Dr. had told the four older kids when they came to see their new baby brother in the hospital. We brought him home in a red and white blanket that a volunteer had sewn into a stocking shape. Christmas Eve. A beautiful bouncing baby boy present. I'd had all the presents wrapped and food prepped before I'd gone to the hospital to have him. We'll let the kids get their fill of holding him and then send them to bed with promises of "go right to sleep so Santa can come!" Two hours later little knuckles knocked at our bedroom door...."Is it Christmas morning yet?" "No sweetie...it's only midnight, please go back to bed." The knocking and asking routine carried on until the wee hours of the morning, until finally, we heard "Silent Night" being played by our ten-year-old on the piano. I muttered, "This has been anything but a silent night...it's 4 AM, let's just get them all up and get it over with." I was beyond exhausted. Scooping up my baby-stuffed stocking and throwing on a robe I entered the living room with four little children smiling sheepishly. I wonder if they have a memory of how cranky I was that Christmas morning? They happily took over baby-holding duty and I attempted to take a nap amidst the sounds of happy children and their daddy continually reminding them to be quiet because Mama just had a baby and needs to rest. Torn between much needed sleep and wanting to relish in their joy, I was unable to feel completely settled doing either.
For years I asked my December-born children if they wanted a "half-birthday celebration". "It'll be summer-time and you can do all the fun summer things!" Not one of them ever took me up on it. That's too weird they'd tell me; and I totally agree. I guess I just wanted them to feel like they had an option other than having their own day so closely immersed with the holiday season.
Young mother's talk a lot about mom-guilt. It's a real thing. I've had it. The interesting thing is that for me, it's never truly gone away. Would've, could've, should've. Why are those the three words that surface first when I am the most tired. It's like a cruel practical joke. My children are finally out on their own and I can live my life on my own schedule not theirs. They are finally independent of me and yet I am besought with thoughts of them. Are they happy and thriving, or struggling, safe, lonely, or do they just need a hug this very minute and I'm not there to shower them with my adoration and affection.
Tonight my eldest son Conrad is downstairs asleep on the couch after driving all day to be home for the holidays. Another of my December babies. December 6th. Under an hour of labor to get him earth-side. He lets me fuss over him and ask him over and over if he needs anything to eat or perhaps an extra blanket or pillow. He kissed me on the cheek, "I'm fine Mama, I can sleep anywhere."
The window curtain above my side of the bed has been sucked in by the chilly cross breeze that flows along the wooden beams. Scooting the cat away from me, I roll over and kneel against the headboard so I can adjust the fabric away from the screen. The stars are so bright that I stay kneeling for a while to let my eyes adjust and capture as much celestial beauty as possible.
Maybe in the morning I'll see if I can rope Conrad into helping me assemble some sort of neighbor gifts. I better start writing down a list. They say if you have thoughts that keep you awake, to write them down and then you can more easily fall back to sleep. I also know that you have to be sure to flip your pillow over to the cool side one more time.
Comentários