All is Calm

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It's late. I'm sitting by the Christmas tree drinking my lemon tea that I'm hoping will  help my throat finally feel a bit better. Everyone else us in bed, including a very fussy baby who is overtired, overstimulated and out of routine. It's quiet for the first time all day. Rather than going to bed, which I should do, I'm pondering the strange situation I'm in.

Tonight we went to Glendale Glitters to look at all of the Christmas lights. It was all done up pretty and we had a lovely evening. We also saw Santa Claus. I've been trying to take the kids to see Santa. (Well, I haven't been trying that hard. I've really been saying "hey, if we run into Santa, that would be fun, but lets not plan around it...") Well, there was a random Santa posing near a motorcycle so we wondered over to see if we could get a picture. We ended up not doing it because it turns out that he was a random guy with a tip jar and that seemed a bit strange. And possibly creepy... Anyway, when I saw him, my first thought was "we'll get him to take a picture with Gabe because this is his first Christmas home from the hospital." In the moment, I really don't think I was planning to use it as a sympathy plea or anything, which is totally what it sounds like when I write it down. But it hit me funny. His first Christmas home from the hospital. I have to specify that. This isn't his first Christmas. It's the first with the tree and the presents. It's the first that he gets to be a part of. Last year he hadn't even opened his eye yet. And no, it wasn't supposed to be his first Christmas, but it was. This is his second Christmas. And I can't go buy a cute little outfit that says "My Second Christmas" or "My First Christmas Home" because our situation is so bizarre. No one else has to split up their life events like that. His life is forever marked by the way that he came into the world. Instead of Christmas trees and presents and a candlelight Christmas Eve service, his first Christmas is marked by tubes, incubators and a lovely nurse named Sherry.

I realize that as time goes on this will become less and less important. His nicu stay will become a less significant part of his life story because he will have other stories to tell. And that's the way that it's supposed to be. But right now, I can't help think about this dichotomy. It's my son's first Christmas. Except that it's not. It's his first Christmas Home from the Hospital.



 

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