December 25, 2016

Late at night, when the whole house is quiet, I think of all Louis has been through. Maybe that's just how I process; slowly and in bite size pieces.
It doesn't feel a whole lot like Christmas this year. Though I am grateful to have my sweet baby home and healthy, I am missing my family and all of our traditions. We decided to stay home, as I am not ready to be far away from Louis' doctors and I don't want to risk any sickness for Louis during flu season.

At my grandparents house, we have a Polish tradition. Just before we sit down to dinner, everyone gets a square of unleavened bread called oplatki. You approach another person and each of you snap a piece of the others oplatki and you wish them well in the coming year. You do this until you have complimented everyone, dipping your snapped pieces in honey as you go. It's a sweet and familiar taste, sort of melting in your mouth. This year, my nana mailed me a piece of oplatki in my birthday card so that I could participate in the tradition even though I'm far from home.

 
Last fall, I had lost my job. At Christmas, during this oplatki tradition, I was so worried that everyone would wish me a new career or for better direction in the new year, that I hid in the bathroom and cried until everyone had finished. I was humbled, to say the least. When I found out I was pregnant, I spent 5 months worrying about what everyone would think. And then we got this news that our unborn baby would need heart surgery. And then the dominos just kept falling and I didn't have time to worry about what everyone else was thinking. It took every ounce of my physical and mental courage to get myself to the next moment, and the next, and the one after that.

This year, I wanted to hear every kind thing anyone could wish for Louis and Dan and me and our future. 

This year, so much has changed and so much has happened in big and powerful ways and all from a 6lb 14oz package.

What matters most in your home is the people you share it with and I am really missing my family this year. I always worry about not letting them down and wanting to work hard to make them proud. When I'm at my lowest, they are always there to help me through. And now Louis has been welcomed into this web of unending love and support. I am so lucky; so lucky to have this family, so lucky to be Louis' mama.

Merry Christmas to you and yours. May you spend your days working hard with people you admire, that will stand by you on your hardest days and share in your greatest joys.

"May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself." -Neil Gaiman