Christmas Past

Six years ago.
Pre-blogging time for me.
My first moments of motherhood. Tonight I want to share...

For some reason, I feel like I've been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past this year. All through the season, I've found myself thinking and reflecting on the Christmas season the year Samantha was born. What sweet, overpowering memories I have of that amazing, new experience of welcoming our first baby into our life. Actually, I may be oversimplifying things when I say it that way. I recall some very tender, wonderful memories with that tiny new baby, but I also look at these pictures, and remember how completely, utterly exhausted and overwhelmed I was!

Samantha was born 11 days before Christmas. Her original due date was December 24th -- Christmas Eve. I was sooo worried I would have a Christmas baby. But nope. Ten days early, on December 14th... I woke up and knew my water was leaking. But I kept my dental appointment (nice to have clean teeth to deliver that baby, right?), then took the Tube over to the hospital. On that last stop before the hospital, I was sitting down when I felt my waters break. What to do? I just stayed seated, hoped no one would notice, then quietly excused myself and left a wet seat. (So gross, I know. But I certainly wasn't up for making an announcement. so...) I walked myself to the hospital, checked myself in, and got some lunch first thing. I wasn't making much progress on my own, so by mid-afternoon I opted for an epidural and some cintocen -- as they call it over there (pit). Brian packed up his stuff from work, went home and got my stuff for me, and came to be with me. He watched a movie while we waited, until I made him turn it off. Ha!

Samantha was born at 10:20 p.m. It was the most beautiful moment of my life. We had decided to have a "surprise" baby, so I didn't even know if she was a boy or girl. And I didn't care. Not one bit. In fact, it didn't even occur to me to ask, as I saw that little baby on my stomach. I was surprised to hear Brian whisper, softly, "It's a girl." Other than his soft whisper, the room was so quiet and still. Samantha didn't cry. At all. She just laid there, looking all around at us. Her hair was bright red, and her lips were, too... so pretty. So tiny. So perfect. The doctor kept telling us she was a really pretty baby, and that her head was perfectly shaped -- like a cesarean section baby.

Wow. What sweet memories of our first baby. First feedings.First baths. First long, endless, sleepless nights. I remember, the night before Christmas Eve, Samantha gave me the best present -- she slept for nearly six hours, in the middle of the night! I felt soooo refreshed on Christmas Eve day. I even insisted we go shopping, so we could buy a little Christmas dress for our baby to wear to church the next day. (We hadn't bought anything in advance, not knowing if she was a girl or boy, remember?) Ah yes, Christmas was a Sunday that year -- maybe that's why I'm having all these memories again? This is the first year since then that we've had another Christmas on Sunday.

I finally found a perfect little pink dress that was probably going to drown our newborn, but I didn't care. I was proud of it. We went home, and this darling, unpredictable newborn did not sleep. At all.
All.
Night.
Long.
Oh what a Christmas Eve we had, Samantha and I. Brian's brother, Reed, was living with us at the time, and I was so afraid my crying baby was waking him and/or Brian... I went downstairs to the couch, turned on the Christmas lights and a Christmas CD. For hours, I held my little Samantha, and cuddled her, rocked her, nursed her, etc... hours and hours. I remember feeling so exhausted, yet loving the feeling of holding my baby with only the Christmas lights and music. I loved thinking it was Christmas Eve, and here I was with my tiny little baby -- yes, a little like Mary, I thought.

Samantha loved looking at the lights on the tree, loved Amy Grant's Christmas carols, loved nursing me sore, loved being rocked at an extremely awkward angle right in front of my body perpendicular to me... all this she loved. But she didn't love sleeping.

In my journal, I think I recorded that she only slept about 1 1/2 hours total between 11 p.m. and 8 a.m. -- only sleeping in 20-minute intervals. Which meant I didn't really sleep AT ALL. Finally, at 8 o'clock, as the sun was rising, we both drifted off to sleep. We missed church, and I cried and cried all Christmas day. Scott and Alicia called to tell us they were headed to the hospital to have THEIR Christmas baby -- and I slept through the call. Then I cried about that. Then cried about missing my family and spending another Christmas away from home. Then cried about having to nurse again. (ouch!) Mainly, I was just exhausted, I know. But I thought it was crummy trick to have a newborn at Christmas. ha! I kept sniffling, saying, "I hate that it's Christmas and I feel like this!!" Poor Brian and Reed. What to do with a hormonal, sleep-deprived new mother? They mainly left me to myself, and made me delicious soup for Christmas supper.

And, of course, Brian took his turns holding our little angel, as often as he could...

Oh, I look back now and wish I could tell myself to embrace that Christmas Spirit for that day. Remember the sweetness of that tiny, innocent little baby. Let Brian take more turns, like he wanted to. I wish I could tell myself to just savor it all, even though I thought that's what I was doing -- take more pictures, take more moments to look at those tiny red lips and itsy bitsy toes. Let her sleep on my stomach, if that makes her happy. Let her sleep in my bed sometimes, if that makes her Daddy happy. Let Jenny show me how to swaddle her properly -- much earlier than six weeks! Let that nursing consultant come back for a second round even though I stood her up accidentally that first time -- it's her job, after all. Kiss those perfect cheeks even more, and breathe in that new baby smell even more. Write it all down, make more paper memories, because she'll want to hear about them, all.

I loved that Christmas, (even the part where I was crying and sad), because I was finally, for the first Christmas ever, a mother -- what I always wanted to be.

Goodnight, Ghost of Christmas Past. 

And goodnight, tiny newborn Samantha of six years ago... 

Thanks for the memories.