12.25.17

Merry Christmas, Munchkin. Wherever you are.

Less than two weeks ago, someone asked me how I was handling the holidays.  I said I was fine.  And I was…until this morning. Now, I’m not doing so hot.

Last Christmas, even though I was barely a month removed from our first failed IVF, I didn’t think about you very much. I had just undergone an emergency appendectomy and was dealing with a terrible post-surgical infection, so I wasn’t really myself. I spent Christmas Eve in the emergency room hooked up to IV antibiotics, so we didn’t really do Christmas here at the Miller Manor.

Your daddy tried. I told you he’s amazing, didn’t I? Well, last Christmas Eve, once we finally made it home from the hospital, I went straight to bed.  We had decided to forego celebrating Christmas, because neither of us had done any shopping or decorating, and with me pretty much confined to bed and on painkillers, it wasn’t going to be a lot of fun anyway.

Except, your dad is a wonderful, wonderful man.  Christmas morning, I woke up to twinkling white lights in the living room. After he had gotten me tucked into bed the night before, he stayed up and pulled our artifical Christmas tree out of storage. He didn’t put all the decorations on it, but waking up to a naked Christmas tree, covered in only the white lights that came with it, filled me with so much love.

We ate leftover tamales and watched the puppies play all afternoon. He’d even wrapped up silly little “gifts” from things lying around the house – a sock, a half-eaten dog toy – so there would at least be something under the tree Christmas morning, to me, from the pups. He knew exactly what to do to make me forget my pain and laugh out loud for the first time in weeks. It was perfect. I’m pretty sure that was the best Christmas I’ve ever had.

And now, a year has passed. Once again, I’m just a few short months removed from another failed IVF. This is the first Christmas dealing with the very real possibility that we may never find you. When our doctor told us that we shouldn’t try IVF again – that there is something wrong with me on a cellular level, and I would never get pregnant with my genetic baby, I was consumed by the all-encompassing “I’ll never be a mom.” That if we ever did find you, it would take years and years, and buckets of money, and a string of miracles, just to hold you in my arms. As time has passed, though, I’ve started to realize all of the little nuanced “nevers” that not being a mom also entails.

Little things, silly things that most moms either complain about or take for granted.  Spit up on a new shirt. Diaper blow outs. Temper tantrums.

We’ll never have a bath time ritual. We’ll never have storytime at night. I’ll never blend my own green beans in a baby bullet and have them spat in my hair.

I’ll never send a baby off to kindergarten. I’ll never help her with homework. I’ll never teach him to drive. I’ll never attend a high school or college graduation, swelling with pride.

And today – especially today –  I realize that we’ll never leave cookies out for Santa. We’ll never stay up into the wee hours on Christmas Eve, making sure all the presents are wrapped before sunrise. We’ll never see the delight on a child’s face when they come in, pajama-laden, and look at all that Santa left for them.

Your dad and I will always just have quiet Christmases with puppies.

No cookie making. No big family meals. No traditions to pass down.

I started off this Christmas like always. I got a cup of coffee and closed the door to the bedroom, so your daddy and the pups could sleep in. Then I gathered all the little gifts we’d gotten the pups and Charley and sat down on the floor to wrap them.

You see, Santa doesn’t visit the Miller Manor just yet. Since the puppies are over-eager little hooligans, we can’t just leave wrapped presents under the tree, as they’ll get into them and argue over which ones are theirs. So that leaves Christmas morning, before they wake up and start wiggling, to wrap puppy toys and stuff stockings with cookies and treats. Which – I guess that does add a small element of “seeing delight on a child’s face,” because when the puppies see their presents they do get super excited. But it’s not the same.

Anyway. I got my coffee and sat down to wrap the toys and treats…and my mind immediately drifted to you. I couldn’t help it. It’s not something that I can control. You consume my thoughts, especially when I’m having a quiet moment to myself.  And I’m sitting here on the floor in our dining room trying to wrap a big bag of Greenies kittycat treats for Charley and all of a sudden, the house feels so cold and empty. I feel completely and utterly alone.

So here I am. I barely made it through the wrapping before I had to move to the couch.  Charley’s here in my lap, and she’s helping a bit (kitty cuddles always help), but I have no desire to get off of this couch and start the rest of my day. Little traditions I’ve tried to set in place over the years to bridge the gap between being a child and having one. There are desserts to make, and pies to take to the neighbors, and phone calls home I need to place. I need to go wake up your daddy, but I’m just sitting here with you, and Charley, and a massive heartache.

I’m so lost.  I miss you so much and we’ve never even met. I long for you. I don’t know if there’s ever a Christmas in my future with you in it. And now I’m getting Merry Christmas texts from friends,  and it’s making things worse.

Someone thought it’d be a great idea to send me a picture of their new baby wearing a Santa hat just a few minutes ago. I tried to smile through it – I sent her a pic of Charley in my lap, because that’s all I could do. I don’t even feel like wishing anyone Merry Christmas, because I don’t feel merry. It doesn’t even feel like Christmas.  How can I even say those words when I just want to lock myself in a dark hole and stay there?

Seeing her smiling baby today was the absolute last thing I needed. Was he cute?  Sure.  But why does she get to be so happy? I understand that she wants to share her happiness, but why today? Why send me something that she knows will break my heart into pieces on what’s supposed to be the happiest day of the year?

How long until a picture of a giggling baby in a Santa hat doesn’t ruin my entire morning? How long must I go on wondering if I’ll ever find that level of happiness? How long until we find you? How long until I really believe in Merry Christmases?

Today is one of the holiest days of the year, and I should be rejoicing in the birth of Jesus, but I’m ashamed to admit that I’m sitting here,  on the celebration of His birth…and I feel so far away from Him. There’s a voice shouting Psalm 13 in my head and I can’t shut it out.

How long, oh Lord, will you forget me? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with this and have sorrow in my heart? 

I’m sorry, kiddo.  Your mom isn’t doing very well today.

Love,

me