Monday, October 18, 2010
my Christmas Eve
I remember the anticipation. The giddy butterflies that compounded in my stomach as my family and I drove up the 101, back home after an evening of celebration with family. We passed through the hills of Camarillo, by Lady Face Mountain of Agoura Hills and finally crept into quiet Thousand Oaks. Every inch closer to my bed that night meant we were closer to the Wonderful Inevitable.
It was Christmas Eve.
I didn't know then that those butterflies, as much as they contributed to the sheer glee of Christmas, had a shelf life. Year by year, their population diminished and the magic seemed to wear off. I had that awkward, "it's-not-about-the-gifts-but-I'm-still-thinking-too-much-about-them" phase, where I'd try to guilt myself back into the anticipation, back into the magic, but for less materialistic and more noble reasons.
And so it goes.
With the birth of my son, Carter, the magic started to return, the welcomed fluttering of intangible excitement. And we, my family of husband and me, still love Christmas.
My Christmas Eve no longer falls on the 24th of December, though. My first Grown-Up-Christmas-Eve fell closer to the New Year of 2008. The anticipation, the wonder, (the fear), the loss of breath over what-may-be all built around the coming of my first child.
And we're hear again. In this season of pumpkins and plastic front-yard ghouls, my soul is being brought back to the childlike joy over the imminent arrival of one of the greatest gifts and privileges of my life. Motherhood. Again. To a distinct, unique and marvelously crafted son.
It's kept me up at night. I've slipped out of bed and quietly crept to the nursery to muse. To finish thank-you cards. To write in his baby book. To appease the butterflies that denied me sleep.
I love that I'm brought back to the wonder. That the privileges of childhood are not completely lost along with the innocence and naivete. That once again, my soul is invited to dream and to hope and to skip a few soul-beats over the promise of what's to come.
This is my Grown-Up-Christmas-Eve.
And I can't wait to share with you the gift.