Saturday was the first day of autumn, yet I spent a good half hour looking at Christmas pins on Pinterest. Yeah. I admitted it.
Whenever we go to the store, part of me says, "Geeze, this is way too early for this marketing crap! It gets worse every year!" But then part of me is like, "SQUEAL! Let's go look! I just want to look, honest, please humor me?"
I can't remember the last time I was this excited about the yuletide. I mean, I love it and all it's glory. I love the warm fuzzys it brings. But I really grew to hate the get-togethers, the awkward conversations, the babies and constant barrage of fertility, just the IN YOUR FACEness of it all. I really hated the comments and ignorance over our situation.
I remember a month after our third miscarriage, we were dropping off presents to one of A's sisters. She said, "It's too bad you guys don't have kids yet." Which was her attempt to segue into her own plans to try (or geeze, I just realized she was probably already pregnant then). She didn't get that far though due to the awkward silence and sudden tension; she was too excited to notice, but thank goodness her husband did. He changed the subject and shut her down.
Her comment was made out of ignorance, but I still cried my eyes out in a public restaurant directly afterward.
I have mixed emotions about the holidays overall; I'm a very jaded and weathered person now. But the yuletide has sucked me in hardcore this year despite all that. It doesn't help that I'm eagerly planning V's birthday party for the weekend after either. It feels like it's too much awesomeness at times. Like it's too good to be true. I'll actually get to start new family traditions this year. After years and years of waiting, trying, struggling, I actually have a child... it's still surreal.
I still have a lot of sadness. Infertility has made me hard, bitter, and I carry a lot of grief with me- but it doesn't weigh me down anymore. It's not slowly pulling me under and suffocating me.
Parenting after infertility is amazing, and at times it's difficult. I'm supposed to be fixed now, if you didn't get the memo from all my friends and family. I'm not supposed to ever try again, my son is all I'll ever need, and all the years, the lack of support, all the children I lost, shouldn't matter.
Except everything still matters. It all still hurts.
I feel torn in so many directions sometimes. I am so flippantly excited, it doesn't make the pain go away... but damn it, for the first time in years I'm allowing myself to be happy. I'm allowing myself to look forward to tomorrow. I'm allowing myself to picture what it will be like and all the things we're going to do. It feels wonderful. Like I've finally came up for air.
That's not to say I don't still worry about things, or stress. It doesn't mean I don't take a moment to shed a tear over a loss, to take a long look at all the flora we've planted for our lost ones, or to light a candle in remembrance. Sometimes I feel that hallow ache in my chest over what we went through. But, I'm letting myself enjoy today and all it's glory. I cuddled my son to sleep while watching Doctor Who. I sat on the floor with him as he crawled to me. I watched him smile at me as he took my hand. Life continues, with both the bitter and the sweet.