Yesterday, a month and a half ahead of schedule, I took down the Christmas decorations. A task that usually leaves me sad and a little forlorn, hence why I try to put it off until Valentine’s Day. Or our long dead Christmas tree bursts into flames because someone flipped on the overhead light. Whichever comes first.
But this year I was champing at the bit to put this holiday season far behind us. As much as I usually look forward to Christmas and all that it brings – the family gatherings, baking cookies, driving around looking at lights, afternoons spent shopping for the perfect gifts – I was equally looking forward to getting this one over with.
With the chaos that inevitably accompanies a newborn baby, everything about this holiday was done as a formality. The bare minimum so that in 30 years when Ellie sits in therapy she can’t blame any of her problems that one time her parents skipped Christmas.
A neurotic Mom who airs all of her dirty laundry on a blog – yes. Lack of holiday cheer – no.
Shopping for presents was a stressful and rushed afternoon activity that I tried to squeeze in between doctors appointments and falling asleep behind the wheel because my boob had been in someone’s mouth since 2:30am.
Each night our house sat sadly engulfed in darkness as our neighbors’ glowed bright.
Even getting a tree seemed like too much trouble. Hell, we didn’t even put the Rubbermaid container away after we lugged it up from the basement and took out the stockings. We just put a plant on the top, threw some presents underneath on Christmas Eve and called it good.
My goal is to be back in holiday fighting form by Easter. Please say a prayer we don’t have any more babies in the meantime.