no. 10: imagined future nostalgia

the pressure of "you're going to miss this" culture, performing holiday magic, and how I'm navigating it all with our family Traditions List.

Perhaps it was the hormones, or perhaps it was the sleep deprivation. Whatever the cause, this time last year,  I found myself barely five weeks postpartum, sweaty and unsteady, going completely off the rails over the holiday season. I had profusely bookmarked gifts for loved ones while nursing and trying to stay awake in the middle of the night. I planned multiple elaborate meals for Christmas day, despite the fact that it was just  my husband and I. I spent hours braising short ribs (!!?!), despite the fact that I am vegetarian, and despite the fact that my infant son was eating every two hours, giving me exactly 37 minutes in between feedings and naps to both feed myself and cook, clean, run dishes, etc. I expedited shipping for a new L.L Bean Stocking for my son. Fancy lululemon joggers for my husband. A new stuffed animal for the dog, who was surely traumatized by her new, small, squirmy sibling. 

Let it be said: I’ve always been a holiday person. I love giving gifts. I love cooking for people. I love traditions that persist simply because this is what we do, a silver thread connecting and continuing family history and lore and togetherness across time and space. In my family, the holiday season is the superbowl of all these things. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New years, I love them all. Last year, I had planned my leave with the holidays in mind, opting for a hard stop date for work ten days before his due date. I would sleep in. I would do those pesky last minute nesting things that had been plaguing me. I would, importantly, do all the holiday stuff I would be too tired and distracted to do later - the gifts,  the stockings, the planning. It was an excellent plan, had my son not been a week and a half early - arriving the day before my last scheduled day of work. 

christmas 2022 in photos

And so, I found myself, the first holiday season with my first child, and it was like I had been possessed. Consumed, day and night with the overwhelming urge to ensure that I didn’t miss the magic. You only get one first, after all. I assumed this had something to do with the holidays, and that my sanity would return once they were over.