Lately, the last several weeks, I've been obsessed with a holiday.
Christmas, in fact.
Yes, I'm born right before Christmas, yes, it's my favorite time of year. But really, since July I would say, when I bought a Christmas tree or two, (since cancelled) I have been bewitched by Christmas.
I have figured it out.
I am fixated by Christmas because I want the bubba to be here, safe and sound.
And by Christmas, he will be.
And that is when I can rest easy.
I'm torn this whole time, still. After viability, after entering the third trimester, after feeling him kick every day. I’m still unable to be completely believe it will be okay. It’s so improbable, it’s so fantastical and miraculous and unexpected and incredible, how can it come to actually happen?
I feel better knowing why I was obsessed with Christmas. It makes it feel less urgent to happen.
And I have forgiven myself for not ever fully embracing pregnancy. It's like, for me, embracing open heart surgery. Yes, it is miraculous when it works, but I've seen it fail too often.
But I do know that I am grateful for pregnancy. Even when I look forward to its successful conclusion with a compulsive bent.
And as for the why, as in, why do I get so lucky twice, this quote came into my head this weekend:
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
I don't have to know the why. At least, not yet.