Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Tell me he is not the most adorable child you have ever seen. Hands down he is the most amazing thing that has happened to me, second to my husband. Whom I love.
Liam gets cold in the middle of the night, and his little hands are freezing! And so I pick him up and put him in bed with me and cuddle him until he gets warm and falls asleep :) He's such a sweet little thing. Today I made his appointment for his three month pictures to be taken. Where is time going?
This year Andy's parents are coming down from RI, along with his brother, to spend Christmas with us. It's going to be quite the holiday now! I have absolutely NONE of my presents done that I was supposed to be making. That I bought the supplies for on Black Friday. Turns out, you can't knit and breastfeed very well. So we'll see.
There's something very poignant about being a new mommy at Christmastime. I alluded to this in my last blog. I always thought I wanted to be pregnant at Christmas. You know- to feel how Mary felt, etc. But it turns out that having a new son at Christmas is more revealing.
You realize how silly all the Christmas carols really are. "Silent Night"...really? "No crying he makes"...sure. Oh, and my favorite it Little Drummer Boy stating, "Then he smiled at me." Nah, if the infant Jesus was smiling at you, it was probably gas.
I think a baby at Christmas reminds you that you won't sleep in on Christmas morning for at least another 16 years. That every silly Christmas song is going to be new to him. He's going to laugh at Alvin and the Chipmunks singing. He's going to be glued to the TV while Snoopy and Linus and Lucy act out the Christmas story. He's going to want to touch the fire at the candle lighting service on Christmas Eve. He's going to believe in Santa, but he may not want to sit on his lap. He's going to have a Christmas list written in crayon.
A baby at Christmas reminds you that Christ came as an infant. That there were no camel car seats on which to transport the child away from Herod. Mary held him. There was no pitocin or epidurals in the stable. There was no midwife. There was no running water. There were no ice packs to put on Mary's body after she birthed her son. And the girl was not even 20 yet! A small frame and a young mind. In this day and age she'd be pegged as a harlot and not welcome in our churches. Can you imagine riding a camel for days with a tear? Maybe they had a cart she could lay on? Did they wrap her up in old sheets or something to stop her bleeding?
If you've been following my blog, you know about the young girl I met in the hallway at the hospital. The one with the baby girl? She's my image of Mary this year. Scared and small. Limping from her incision. If Mary was about 13, like they think she was, she wasn't even 50 yet when Jesus died. Maybe this is why I find myself in tears so often this Christmas. As I'm playing with his fingers and toes and making him smile, I wonder what Liam is going to see in his lifetime.
You can't help but watch the news and see the tragic pictures of the children from Sandy Hook Elem. whose little lives were cut short by senseless violence. Of the teachers who acted as human shields to protect these vulnerable kids. And I sit with my son and think- will you be a victim? Will you be a hero? Will you give your life to save many? Will you join the military and travel the world? Will you be a pastor and lead a flock of sheep? What mistakes will you make? What trials will we face together? What will bring you joy? What will cause you sorrow?
So much to think about at Christmas time. But the bottom line is- I'll never get these moments back. Neither did Mary. I understand why Catholics hold her in such high reverence. Maybe they grasp something we don't? In the meantime I'll hold my little "Santa Baby" tighter and kiss him on his little round cheeks, and thank God for every moment we have together.