I’d pictured the moment countless times.
A darkened living room. Our son’s eager, upturned face. The reflection of twinkle lights in his dark and mesmerized eyes.
Imagining our baby’s first Christmas was a common daydream during my pregnancy. It was a hopeful fantasy and reminder that, regardless of the pain or sickness I felt, it would all be “worth it” — that phrase parents constantly pass back and forth like a balm, soothing us on our darkest and most exhausted days.
When is the last time I felt that magic, that sparkle?
Sunday was The Day. Though I’d been looking forward to decorating for Christmas, I’d been awake since 4 a.m. for a feeding — and my energy level had reached a new low. Still, Spencer and I spent the morning dragging holiday boxes up from the basement and put the artificial tree in the corner.
There is the etched glass ornament announcing my birth 30 years ago, still clear and pristine. My Pink Power Ranger, a relic from the ’90s, and the pillow-soft Cabbage Patch orbs. Spencer’s Grinch ornaments, a Christmas goose. A hot air balloon. Santa’s grinning face.
Then, the ones we acquired together: “Our First Christmas” on a sparkly round ball; a trolley car from our first trip to San Francisco. From there, our December engagement; our wedding; a key for our first home. Last year’s additions celebrated our pregnancy, back when we didn’t even know Oliver was Oliver. I’d unknowingly placed our first sonogram picture at eye level, where Ollie and I look at it every day.
It’s so strange to see that little photo, the edges now battered from frequent handling. I initially tucked it in my purse, this beautiful secret, but later showed it friends and family as though it were a gap-toothed school picture.
“Here’s our baby,” I would say, the words foreign in my mouth. “Our baby” was smaller than a blueberry — a tiny white shape on a black background. The biggest thing in my heart.
I’d imagined putting up our first Christmas tree would be this beautiful experience. We’d listen to holiday music, sip eggnog, lift Ollie high to “help” with the tinsel.
In my mind, it was cozy.
In reality, it was hot.
Spence and I were exhausted from carrying boxes before we’d even begun. I was sweaty, unshowered, without makeup. I would hastily unpack ornaments and decorate while Spencer tried to calm our fussy baby; the three of us were rarely in the same place at the same time. I took very few photos.
It was not magical. The house was destroyed. Pieces of Styrofoam from my village houses floated like fake snow, and the couch was covered in glitter. Fake pine needles blanketed the carpet — right where our son would reach for them. I was overwhelmed.
But eventually, mercifully, Oliver fell asleep. We moved him upstairs to his crib while we finished unloading our decor, the pair of us whispering and sipping warm beers as the day wore on. I couldn’t see it at first, as I rarely can, but the room took shape.
We haven’t been in our house long enough to have set traditions, particular “ways.” Santa doesn’t have to go on the mantel; the angels can sing from the hall, not the table. Everything is pliable. We can form it as we go.
When Ollie woke up, darkness had fallen. Our living room glittered by white twinkle lights. Spencer and I crept to lift him from his crib, slowly making our way downstairs to watch his expression. It was suddenly the most important thing in the world.
It’s hard to be a human these days, let alone a parent.
During my pregnancy, an older friend and I often discussed current events. Working for a newspaper, it’s inevitable — and as always, it was awful: gun violence; racism; hate-mongering; political upheaval. Ebola and hunger. Sadness and heartbreak.
My son was born in Baltimore the day Freddie Gray was taken into police custody. It was three miles away. Gray died a week later — in the hospital a few floors below where my son laid in his isolette. Oliver was taken out of the city by ambulance the morning the riots broke out — just blocks and a breath or two away.
“It’s a sad, strange time for America,” my friend said last year, words that were also true in April and July and December. “I don’t know, Megan . . . I don’t know if I’d want to bring a child into the world these days.”
She wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t already considered. But it’s different — scarier — to hear it from someone else. In light of the many tragedies over the last few weeks (months? years?), that conversation flooded back to me this week.
I thought of the world in which Oliver will become a child, a man. Hopefully a father himself.
I hadn’t known what to say at the time, but I now know:
I brought a child into this world out of love. Hope.
I brought a child into this world out of the belief that, in time, we can fix what is broken. We can persevere. With understanding and tolerance, we will find a way to be good to each other. That hatred and evil cannot win.
And more than anything, I brought a child into this world for a moment like Sunday: Oliver’s mouth forming a curious “O,” his fat fists reaching for the sparkly ornaments on his first Christmas tree. In an instant, a month’s worth of hard news disappeared beneath its branches. I felt I could breathe again.
When I came home from work each night this week, I turned off the news and turned on the lights. We sat close to the tree, this precious boy in my lap, his tiny hands reaching for a future we cannot yet see.
20 thoughts on “Off with the news, on with the tree”
This is beautiful and very much what I needed to read today. Thank you!
Everything you’ve said here is so true about being a parent! I worry about the future and my child’s future, but all I can do is hope for good things and believe.
And our Christmas decorating experience was much like yours. Jerry put up the tree by himself and then later I put up the ornaments by myself. Gotta do what you gotta do to get things done with babies in the house! We were running up and down the stairs and digging through various boxes and I only put out about a third of my decoratins this year. It was not at all magical but now we’re in the spirit and Caleb seems to like our tree too!
What a lovely, lovely post. Sadly, times have always been troubled.
As a mom, I pray for my children daily. I have a young adult daughter and an adolescent son. African Americans. The world is not a kind place. But we serve an awesome God even surrounded by madness. Raising children is THE hardest job. It’s also an honor and joy.
I love the inten curiosity on his face. So sweet! And I completely agree with you, that all we can do is love our children amd teach them to love. Maybe if we teach them to love with the same ferocity that others feel hate, we bring back peace.
Reading this brought tears to my eyes as I’m also trying to figure out how to navigate this world and teach our little boy how to understand, be kinder, be more considerate, and fix what is broken. Wonderful post, Meg.
Child a ray of hope and future.
I’m a new blogger and I’ve also tried to express life :
In my article It’s life, it’s beautiful
Those are lovely and hopeful thoughts!
I do not have any children in my house yet, but my fiance and I take the time each year to put up our little tree. I also decorate our front door. It sounds like a little silly thing but it is something we do and enjoy together. Those are the moments when all the violence and craziness in the world doesn’t mean all is lost. It’s a small reminder that you can create your own good amongst all the bad.
This gave me chills! Such a great read.
Thank you for this beautiful post. Thank you for reminding us that there is always hope. May you and your family have a blessed and peaceful Christmas!
Thank you, just what I needed to read.
This brought me to tears. Beautiful.
Beautiful and eloquent and charming. You’ve captured a lot of what people need to hear right now.
And that picture is absolutely adorable. He looks completely entranced.
Make the world around your son a beautiful place and continue to raise him with love. Merry first Christmas to little Oliver!
Awesome and beautiful depth, a real joy to hear what you have pondered, and hoped for.
I’ve been experiencing my little grandson’s firsts. But he is my last, so I am treasuring it up for my scrapbook of memories.
If I can comment on an earlier post – Ollie was not saying ‘goy, goy,goy.’ He was letting you know that – Aussie, Aussie, oy, oy, oy. 🙂
Beautiful, and so true. I often thought the same thing but then I wondered, well what if young couples in the 1930s said the same thing? My grandparents wouldn’t be here. What if couples living during the cold war and Cuban missile crisis said that? My parents wouldn’t be here. The world is what we make it and by focusing on the positives – hope and love especially – maybe the babies we’ve brought into the world this year will someday make it even better.
Comments are closed.