It is NOT the most wonderful time of the year.
Not this year, anyway.
Everything just feels wrong this year. I usually love Christmas and love the weeks leading up to it. Shopping and decorating and baking. But all of those things have felt like chores this year. All I really want to do is crawl up in bed and emerge sometime in April. Think I could get away with that?
I should have a big, round, pregnant belly right now. I pictured myself pregnant at Christmas. And since I have another March baby (Jack), I could actually imagine exactly HOW pregnant I would look and feel.
There should be freaking SNOW on the ground. It looks like September outside, for crying out loud. I'd like at least a little something to clue me into the fact that it's December. (But, of course, once January hits, I'd like the snow to continue to stay away).
I should be mourning the fact that I can't have an alcoholic drink on Christmas Eve, not mourning the fact that I AM able to drink this year.
There should be a baby kicking and flipping inside my body. There should be baby things collecting in our unborn baby's crib, not mementos of our stillborn daughter.
This is going to be a long week.