When my ex and I filed for divorce, I never thought about what this holiday would be like.
Last winter, the threads tying my marriage together began to unravel. My husband and I escaped the mild north Texas winter and took our baby to California for a while to try and find our groove again. The air on the West Coast was temperate, and so were we. We didn't even argue with passion. When we got back home, spring was already in full bloom.
By the time summer came, the silence between us was more than I could bear. I filed for divorce.
The time when fall turns into winter has always been my favorite. Cooler temperatures and changing colors makes my heart happy — they're my cue to secretly begin listening to Christmas music. This year, though, everything seemed different.
I didn't get into football season, and I never found myself accidentally singing Mariah's hopeful "All I Want for Christmas Is You" or Eartha Kitt's raspy "Santa, Baby." I refused to put my iTunes library on random for the potential of yuletide cheer; each melody brought too many bittersweet memories. I was already doing a horrible job of convincing folks that my swollen, red eyes were a consequence of the warm weather's high pollen counts.
I tried my best to enjoy the extended lazy days with my son. At my best friend's house one night, I sat outside watching him chase a dog that was chasing a soccer ball. I was glad to not be doing dinner alone. My friend's dad put on some hot dogs for the kids; her mom brought out burgers and wine for the grown-ups. We were all excited to light the fire pit.
The sun set completely, and fireflies came out to play. My phone rang just as it had for the past few months, signaling a FaceTime call from my soon-to-be-ex. I put the baby in my lap as always before I pushed the green button. As I absently listened to the baby babble and his father chat, I stared into the fire, feeling peaceful if not content. Despite the fire and the chill in the air, it hadn't quite sunk in that the seasons had officially changed.
Then I heard a pivot in tone and realized my ex was talking to me. He asked if I had "thought about the holidays," because his parents had rented the house in the mountains again. It hit me like a freight train. The baby wriggled away, disinterested, which was a welcome distraction. I walked away from everyone by the fire, far enough into the dark to not disturb their fun — and to hide my face.
He asked if I had 'thought about the holidays.' It hit me like a freight train.
I hadn't thought about the holidays. Not in this awkward way. When I'd thought about what they'd look like after our divorce, it was years from now when we were both healed. When we were possibly remarried to other folks and one (or both) of us might be working to blend a healthy family, one that celebrates together with everyone's kids because love is love and family is family, no matter how we end up putting it all together.What I hadn't thought was about this holiday. The one when we are both still tender or angry or scared — or all of these at once. The one when we might still be married but days away from it being final, or perhaps, newly divorced, paperwork hot off the printer and sitting in a mailroom bin along with the well-planned, summer-scheduled family photo shoot holiday cards — like the one we sent last year when the baby wasn't even crawling yet.
I hadn't thought about how many ounces of milk I would need to pump and how he'd get it through airport security with only a baby and not a mom. I hadn't thought about how my 16-month-old would do on a plane without me. I hadn't thought about the fact that, at first, it would just seem like he was with his dad for a regular visit.
I took him to see Santa Claus, although he still doesn't know who the man in the red suit is. We made small memories, a gift, a decoration here and there.
While my ex and my baby head to the mountains, I'll be in New England with friends. I'll convince myself that it's just what I need after this challenging year. It's Christmas, no matter where we all are.
When concerned friends warmly ask how I'm handling the season, I'll only mention that the baby has a lingering cold picked up from daycare and I'm grateful for the full night's rest. I'll say that most mothers with a 16-month-old could never dream of getting six days away to sleep alone, go to the bathroom alone, eat a plate of food alone.
I haven't gone anywhere without a baby attached to me in more than a year. I will also try to remember my child development classes' teachings, that because he loves me and is well attached, he will cry during FaceTime with me and push the red button before I can wave bye-bye. I will try not to cry.
And, I imagine optimistically, I will change my flight when I realize the baby and his dad will be back home a day earlier than I'd remembered. The whole flight home, I will wonder if it really was longer, because it felt longer. I will worry that saying yes when his dad asks if I want him that night is selfish since there's a cold front and it will be past bedtime — and his cough has come back.
I will wait in a crisp North Texas night, feeling as if I brought winter to Texas from New England. I'll put my hands into the pocket of my winter coat for the first time this season and touch the soft, well-worn leather. My favorite pair of gloves hadn't shown up when I packed and moved into the new place after the divorce got underway. I'll be glad that I haven't lost them. Then, I'll look up as my ex parks and gets out of his car. And my son will be back in my arms again.
Source: https://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/parenting/a42023/first-christmas-without-baby/
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