Last year on Christmas, I remember thinking "I can't wait until next Christmas! DH will be almost done school, and I'll be at least pregnant, if we don't already have a baby!"
So where am I right now? Watching my baby sleep in his "Baby's First Christmas" jammies? Feeling my baby kick and thinking about pink vs. blue? Neither of the above. I'm sitting in a bath tub, drugged on Ativan. (The one benefit to being on my period on Christmas day, of all days, is I can at least drown my sorrows in sedatives.)
I'm wondering about next year. Where will next Christmas find me? I was full of hope last Christmas. I just knew I'd at least be pregnant by now. But the 1 little lonely pink line on my last pregnancy test assures me that I've lost the game again this month.
So here I am. It's Christmas day and I'm sitting alone in my bath tub, crying my eyes out. My husband doesn't get it. It's Christmas- my favorite day of the year! I prepared for today for months! I carefully knitted scarves and glued together snowmen ornaments. I wrapped presents and tied bows. I braved the black Friday sales and got DH the perfect gift. But I'm miserable. The thing I wanted most, Santa just couldn't bring. And as I think of my hopefulness last year, I wonder, will I ever get what I want the most? Next year, will I finally get to send out that Christmas card with the baby wrapped in the big bow proclaiming "It's my first Christmas!" Or will I find myself in a bathtub, wet and lonely, hoping next year.... Next year... Will finally be different?
"Santa can't bring me what I need, 'cuz, baby, all I want for Christmas is you."
*hugs* xx
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