This is not the post I envisioned for what was otherwise a lovely Christmas holiday. My mother certainly ruined my Christmas eve but as I didn’t have to see her today and I hope not for many months, we had a great day.
And, while my husband said he thinks it is fear, not hate, the result is the same.
My mantra going into last nights festitivies was ‘stay about the fray’. It is a bit easier to do with a mobile infant and I managed to, for the most part. However, my mother couldn’t/wouldn’t even look at me, let alone be in the same room as me or acknowledge me even when I spoke directly to her. It was like repelling magnets, if I walked into the same room she was in, or crossed her path, she turned abruptly on her heel in the other direction.
For his part, my dad didn’t even attend.
I could write more, how it makes me feel, how it got under my skin and ruined my evening, so much so that I didn’t have a bite to eat or even see what was for dessert (usually many things I would sample), or get to watch my older son open his presents because I rathered be holed up in the front room alone with the baby than have to look at my mother’s perma-scowl.
Yes, I have my own family now and it is because of them that my life is full, complete, and loving. Even as a 47 year old woman who congitively understands that my parents are fucked up, it is still hard to bear the brunt of their fuckedupness. Knowing they view me as the evil doer who broke up our family is hard even if I know it is wholly untrue.
But, as I write this, catharsis is happening and my sights are shifting from my pity party to Baby G’s first birthday tomorrow. At this time last year, I was preparing for my planned c-section, savoring our last moments as a family of three, and being humbled by the depth of gratitude I had for the precious and long-loved gift that was about to join our family on the outside. What a difference a year makes: