The Thirteenth Day of Christmas

So there I was slogging my heavy basket of wet laundry up my snowy/icy driveway in the dark Saturday night, tears streaming down my face, and all I could think was "What a shitty, shitty Christmas!" I'd been stuck in the snow twice already, was stuck again - in snow AND mud this time. I was days behind in work, and I still hadn't finished up my Christmas shopping. And I was doing my laundry at the laundromat.

My neighbor, who drives a big-ass truck with monstor tires went into the ditch trying to help pull me out the first time. A passerby, also in a big-ass truck, tried to pull my neighbor out and nearly pulled him over sideways.

Jody spun out the freeway trying to get home on Christmas eve; her car is now sporting a black eye in the form of a lenseless headlight that will cost money to fix. One of her tires popped the previous day, also costing money; her car got stuck later and another tire punctured while we were digging it out of the ice and snow and blackberry muck. All four tires ended up being replaced this week. $360.

And, like some twisted version of The Twelve Days of Christmas, my work computer was dropped from a substantial height and now reboots every 20 minutes. NO-freakin'-EL.

I reassured Jo, though, that I would see the silver lining soon; Jody is my third of four kids. And strangely, therein lies the silver lining.

Having kids is hella work, and messy too, yes? It's no secret that pregnant women are emotional creatures, full of insecurity. And why shouldn't they be? They look (or think they look) like fat cows! Their clothes don't fit, they can't sleep on their stomachs and they have constant heartburn, morning sickness and the urge to pee.

Their nipples are sore. They can't drink or smoke. People touch their bellies all the frickin' time. And that's just the pregnancy part of it! Then labor begins...

First the contractions, which are like no stomach flu you've ever experienced. They are menstrual cramps from hell. And while things are contracting, other things are spreading painfully inch by inch, and your spine is strangely curved the wrong direction. And then your head spins and you speak in other voices, demonic voices, telling everyone from the nurses and doctors to your spouse/parents/other children, whoever happens to be in sight, to BURN IN HELL YOU SONS OF BITCHES, and then a calm descends and everyone holds their breath while you hold your breath and push and then there is a squeak and everyone cries and hugs and life is grander than grand and you love everyone including the doctors and nurses you just told to go to hell.

That is, of course, if you are living in the 21 century and having your baby at Overlake Medical Center.

But what if you weren't? What if you were pregnant and traveling across country with a man who wasn't even the father of your unborn child. What if, in these last few hours of an extremely controversial pregnancy, with aching bones and swollen feet, you find yourself riding a clop-footed donkey for hours and days, traveling more miles than you've traveled in your entire lifetime, and right in the middle of it, you go into labor...on a donkey's back.

And your husband, what about him? A newlywed trying to take care of his new wife who is in extreme pain. And he can't find a place to stay, can't find even a single room at the diviest of inns, and all he can offer his new bride is a bed of straw in a manger with a stinky cow and some grub-infested sheep.

Did the local innkeeper bring them clean blankets? Fresh straw? And who carted away the bloody straw and buried the placenta? Who wiped all that gross nasty wax off the baby? WHO CUT THE UMBILICAL CORD??

No nurse to help the poor woman focus on her breathing, no doctor to suction out the baby's lungs, no wise men to congratulate the new mom and give the baby it's first terry-cloth sleeper with bears on the feet. No one but the mom, the dad and the baby...in a stable far from home.

Having a baby is a brutal, bloody process, chock-full of icky stuff. And yes, women the world over have been giving birth in less than optimal conditions. Still, to do that for the first time in a horse's stall under such conditions...well, that just makes me a tad bit ashamed of myself for calling this past week a "rotten Christmas."

Whatever bits and pieces you believe in the Christmas Story, or whether you believe any of it, there still remains this truth for me - I live a rich and wonderful life. My family is doing well, my friends are all safe; I have money for food and clothes and a decent home. And even if I can't afford to take a vacation right now, I've been to Europe and Hawaii and Mexico and even the fifty-first state of Canadia. I have health insurance, car insurance, homeowners' insurance...and thankfully I don't need them at the moment.

Turns out the only thing shitty about this Christmas has been my attitude.