I meant to publish this on Christmas night, but weariness got the best of me.
What was your most memorable Christmas ever?
YIKES! Our connect group question of the night caused me to panic.
IThe memory is slowly fading. Remembering Christmases as a kid just doesn’t work so much for me anymore. Teenage years? Hardly. Adult life? Meh. I remember a memorable gift, but an entire Christmas?
Thankfully, I wasn’t asked to answer the question first. Whew. But, I still had to come up with an answer.
Most memorable Christmas….most memorable….memorable Christmas.
27 years ago tonight I was in labor. Truth be told, I was in labor all day long back in 1992. I just didn’t tell anyone.
It was our first Christmas in our new home. My husband and I hadn’t been married a year yet when we bought the house. I can remember being about 7 months pregnant and standing on the side of a bathtub trying to install a new shower curtain. I’m still surprised at how well I balanced.
That Christmas, we were hosting my husband’s family – parents, three of his siblings and one niece. My mom and grandma also flew up from Arizona for the festivities. This was our first real hosting opportunity and being the Type A person that I am, it had to be perfect.
Sitting down is not an option. I am continually working, cleaning, baking, prepping for the days leading up to a hosting event. Come event day, I am in full bore, taking-care-of-everyone-and-everything mode.
Making sure everyone had all of their needs met was important to me that day. Still is, but this day in particular, it was vital. Our first Christmas in our new home would set the tone for every Christmas thereafter.
Perfectionist me would have nothing less. A little pain, a little Braxton-Hicks wasn’t about to slow me down.
No one knew what was going on. No one knew I was in pain all day. I kept myself busy so as not to draw any additional attention. I told nobody, not even my husband. I didn’t want to spoil anyone’s Christmas.
Especially my 6 year-old daughter’s.
I labored – no pun intended – on through the day, taking care of things around the kitchen (pain), living room (pain), wherever (pain). I made sure there was plenty of food and messes were cleaned. Pain. All I could feel was pain and it was getting worse.
When my husband’s family had left, I was relieved. Christmas was a success and I could finally relax. Relax to the point of finally acknowledging what I had feared all day.
I was in labor.
When I finally told my husband, I think contractions were already five minutes apart. Long story short, he called the doctor and we headed to the hospital…on Christmas…night.
At first, I wanted Aaron to have his own day. I didn’t want him born on my original due date – Christmas Eve – because that was my mother-in-law’s birthday. I didn’t want him born on Christmas because, well, that was Christmas.
But, when I got to the hospital at 10 pm, I started to entertain the idea of a Christmas baby. Not so much because it was Christmas and all of the joy, pomp and circumstance that goes with it, but because it was Jesus’ birthday!!!
Yes, yes, I know Jesus wasn’t born in December, but I was a young Christian back then who didn’t know any better. It was Jesus’ day so why not give birth, right?
It didn’t take long for the hospital staff to get me checked in and ready. Shortly, I was ready to push, but the doctor subbing for my doc was nowhere to be found. A very unhappy mama was I.
They had the hospital OB/GYN on call come into the room. She knew I was ready. And so I began the process, but Christmas was over.
Or was it?
Looking back now, I have no idea how I went through Christmas Day like I did. Not a clue. More so still, I delivered that baby boy with no drugs whatsoever.
I don’t say any of that to brag. I’m sincerely astonished as I look at what God did. I clearly remember staring at a phone number in the hospital room and calling out Jesus’ name. I did that over and over again.
And he guided me through it all.
Christmas was wonderful. My grandma being there was priceless. Seeing her hold Aaron, well, it brings tears to my eyes.
I wouldn’t change a thing about that day. Not even delivering my son on Christmas would have made it any better. He has his own day – as it should be.
He’s not the biggest fan of being born the day after Christmas – for obvious reasons – but it is his day. Not his Granny’s (my mother-in-law) day on Christmas Eve. Not Jesus’ day on Christmas.
That’s pretty memorable alright.
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