This morning we spent crying. Bellies were full, his diaper was dry, we'd both slept for at least a few hours. But we wanted to cry. His, a throaty, guttural scream. Mine, silent tears streaming down my cheeks.
I can sit and listen to him cry and not be anxious. Not because I like for him to cry. Not because it doesn't bother me. But because sometimes I can't fix it, and I'd rather sit and listen to him cry than to walk away. Sometimes we just need to cry. Together.
Others who are not moms do not understand this. They hear the cry and they want to soothe and they want to bounce and they want to sway and they want to walk, stand, sit, whatever it takes to soothe the tears of the baby.
Normally, Judah is easily soothed. But not this morning. This morning we sat in the hand me down chair and I cupped my hand on his cheek and held him tight. And we cried.
Because it is Christmas today. And nothing either of us could do would fix whatever hurt it was we were feeling.
After the crying had gone on too long, I breathed deeply and prayed over sweet Judah. Prayed that whatever it was that hurt him that I couldn't see, whatever was wrong that I couldn't fix, Jesus would fix. And quietly, gradually, his breath started to even and his eyes started to droop and through shudders and sniffles and sighs, he fell asleep.
I cried off and on throughout the day and even now, at 8:30, I sit in bed. Defeated by this day. With many more tears ready to fall.
This goes far beyond Christmas blues. This had nothing to do with the hype of Christmas being all over. All presents unwrapped. Or even with going back to work. This had everything to do with the anti-climactic nature of this holiday. Christmas 2012 went by without me noticing. Without truly being celebrated. Alone. Un-enjoyed.
Judah is too little to really give gifts to. Next Christmas, or may the year after, we will wrap presents to put under the tree. We will get up and open them together and then, I truly believe, the magic of Christmas will return. But this year... I woke up alone. Olivia and I exchanged small gifts -- hers made me cry. But I was not able to get her anything near what I wanted to. I was almost embarrassed by the gift card I handed her. I know that emotion all too well.
Christmas, we learn from an early age, is not about gifts.
But I did not get my mind right before this holiday.
I counted on spending today differently than I did. And because of that, I feel like I wasted my day. What I had planned never came to pass, so I feel like I spent most of my day waiting. Wishing. Even crying. If I had known better, if I had been wise and thought it through, I would have created our own Christmas. And counted on no one else.
Now the New Year will approach so quickly I won't even be able to think straight. And I will be overwhelmed with a deluge of memories and regrets and hopes and stories to tell. This year... this year just about took me out. But it didn't. And this week I will tell you that story.
Tonight, I am surrendering. I'll probably cry some. And fall asleep early. Tomorrow will be a casual work day and then Long Avenue Christmas.
I wait and anxiously hope for the day that Judah runs into my room and jumps in my bed to wake me up to open Christmas presents. When we bake cinnamon rolls and grill steaks and go see a movie and open presents together, one at a time-- because he and I are Vaughans. And that is what we do. When maybe one day we bundle up and drive to Aunt Kat and Uncle David's, because that's where all the family gathers. And I will teach Judah that Christmas is about more than presents, but I will still get to be the next greatest stocking stuffer. And I will watch Elijah grow up with Judah and we will watch people be added to our family. And hopefully I won't be the one in the driver's seat.
Things will continue to change. Be different. Get better.
But this Christmas is over. And we'll never have to do that again. The Christmas tree will go back in the box and we will carefully wrap all the ornaments in the tissue paper from the gift bags. I will put the furniture back where it belongs and put away the evergreen scented candle.
Even tonight, I just made a huge leap. A giant step towards closure and hope and resolution. The greatest gift I could have given myself. And I marvel at how long it has taken me. There's a peace, settled on my heart because I know it was the right decision. And right decisions on Christmas are a sweet thing.
But I still need to cry some more about it.
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