Hi buddy –
I’m better today. Christmas was hard – way harder than I expected it to be. For the few weeks leading up to Monday, I was bugging your Aunt to come out here, asking my friends to come to my house for Christmas dinner, thinking of inviting the neighbors over. I didn’t know why this year in particular, I felt like I needed more people in the house for the holidays. Your dad and the critters have always been enough.
Until Christmas morning, where I sat in a blubbering heap on the couch with a kitty in my lap, writing to you.
Family is important to me. Friends are important as well, because to me, my friends are my family. I think I was trying to get as many people into the house as I could, so missing you wouldn’t have been so present in my mind. This Christmas, you seemed further away from me than ever before, and I desperately needed something to fill the void.
But I sat there, alone, for the better part of three hours. With just you. And Charley.
You know what got me out of my funk? Your dad. You are going to be the luckiest kiddo on the planet, bub. I may not turn out to be the best mom in the world, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that when it comes to being a dad, yours is going to knock it out of the park.
I can’t wait for you to meet him. I can’t wait for him to meet you, actually. The look on his face when he holds you for the first time – it hasn’t happened yet, but the image is already burned into my mind. God, I love your father.
Christmas morning, he found me right where we left off. I was sobbing on the couch, my nose a swollen mess, my hair everywhere. I didn’t have tissues, so my poor shirtsleeve was sopping wet with tears and slobber and snot.
But your dad walks over, and he sits down on the ottoman beside the couch, and he puts his arm around me. And I just start talking. I tell him everything I had just told you, everything I had written down, and you know what he did? Nothing. He just sat there, and held me while I cried, and rubbed my back and let me get it all out. I don’t know how long we were there. It could have been five minutes or it could have been an hour. Time seemed to stop while he held me. Finally, must have gotten it all out, because I had stopped crying. Then I realized how sopping wet my shirtsleeves were, which grossed me out. And your dad did what he’s best at. He made a joke, and it cracked me up, and I got off the couch to go shower with a smile on my face.
This is your dad. This is the man that knows the exact right thing to do at the exact right time. He may not have all the answers, but he knows how to fix things.
I won’t say I was happy the rest of the day, but he made it as good as it could be. We played with the puppies, they opened a gift or two, and then he and I opened our gifts to each other. The rest of the day was as non-traditional as he and I have been over the last several years together, but it was a good day. I made a pie, which I somehow managed not to screw up, and we took the kids on a long walk. I usually don’t go on walks with him and the pups, but I think he knew that I needed some air, because when we got home, I felt…good. And when I started cooking Christmas dinner, I wasn’t frazzled or upset. I’m a pretty decent cook, but over the last several months it seems like every time I’ve tried to cook or bake – even though I love doing both – I somehow mess it up. My cupcakes fall. I put too much salt in the spaghetti sauce. I burn the chicken.
Not Christmas dinner. It turned out amazing. We may not have had you around, but the two of us – and Charley, and your puppydog siblings – all ended up having a pretty great evening.
Maybe you’ll join us next year or the year after. Maybe you’re out there right now, wondering when you’ll have a big family Christmas. Maybe we’ll find each other soon. I’d like that a lot.
Love,
Mom
My Stork Got Lost 