This Holiday, I'll Be a Better Me

This holiday season, I’ll do a lot of things.

I’ll play with my son in the freezing cold, watch The Charlie Brown Christmas show with him, and I’ll buy him something that he doesn’t need, anticipating the joy on his face when he sees that he has a present a few presents too many presents under our tree. We’ll go to the local botanical gardens, and to the zoo, because both have breathtaking holiday light displays. Robert and I will drink hot chocolate, and try to coax Tucker into tasting some.

We’ll sled, build snowmen if there’s snow, and Lego robots if there’s not.

We’ll arrive at the airport early for once, so that we don’t miss our flight. Again. We’ll arrive at our destination, and I’ll feel home. In other words, we’ll do the obvious holiday things. I also hope to do some less obvious things this holiday season.

I hope to breathe deeply and easily. Exhale anxiety and exhaustion. Inhale hope. Contentment. Peace. Embrace the loveliness of each family member. To find amusement rather than annoyance in their quirks and assumptions.

I’ll be honest. With others. Myself. Open. Free. Me.

I will remember that they mean well. I’ll remember that them meaning well does not have to be the end of the conversation.

I will not attempt to easily swallow the hurt, and I will not hold it. I will not spew that hurt as a shield.

This year, rather than taking the easier path of nodding and smiling while crumbling inside, I’ll choose to utter the words “Hm. Maybe, but it’s okay if he doesn’t” in response to somebody telling me that Tucker will catch up.

I’m going to be brave and disagree out-loud with “boys who stay home with their mothers don’t learn to speak because mom anticipates what he needs, and doesn’t make him ask for it” as “a reasonable theory.”

I will think about the questions. I’ll try to answer.

I will not worry today about where Tucker will sleep at my dad’s house, and comfort myself with the knowledge that if he sleeps with me and a too-crowded, ousted-Robert, that that is okay. I’ll remember gratitude at having a husband who takes one for the team in situations like this.

I’ll remember the importance of making time for friends, when it feels like there is no time, and that there are too many unknown stories to reconnect anyway. I’ll remember that I’ve felt the same, before, and realized later that we always do. We always do reconnect, even with too many stories and missed life events between us.

I’ll remember to bundle up, and go outside when Tucker is awake in a too early time zone, rather than trying to keep him quiet with videos. I’ll remember that my brothers wake early, and call them for a breakfast meeting, rather than stressing while waiting for unknown plans to be revealed.

This is the first Christmas that Tucker has seen holiday lights and says “Christmas!” (or close enough)

This is the year that I will be my best me, and not compare him to his cousin.

(Photo by Kristi Campbell)

This year, I will not let my guilt over Tucker not being typical seep into our meals, conversations, or my soul. This year, I will turn my back on sadness and worry. I will embrace my family. Tucker’s family. I will speak when I should, and take a walk when silence wins.

I will remember that they celebrated and loved him, before he was even here.

I will remember the bliss on their faces, when they first met him.

I will remember that they love him, still, even though they don’t necessarily know, or understand.

I will remember.

This, and every, holiday season, I will make Christmas magical for Tucker. I will dance with him beneath fairy lights, warm his freezing ungloved hands on my belly, and make sure that he knows the importance of family, while also knowing when to simply nod, smile, and walk away from them.

This holiday season, I will be a better me.

Kristi Campbell almost always leaves the house in either flip-flops or Uggs, depending on the weather. Although she works part-time, her passion is writing and drawing really stupid-looking pictures for her blog Finding Ninee. Finding Ninee (pronounced 9E for her son’s pronunciation of the word airplane) started due to a memoir, abandoned when Kristi read that a publisher would rather shave a cat than read another. Its primary focus is to find and provide humor and support in a “Middle World,” one where the autism spectrum exists but a diagnosis does not. You can also find her on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.