This Christmas was hard, really hard. I’d wanted to celebrate Gus’s first Christmas in style, but nothing went to plan.
I was exhausted from the never ending roller coaster ride that was Christmas in reception class for Herbie, with Superhero Dress Up Day, three Nativity performances (two in one day), a Christmas Fair for which cakes needed to be provided for a mufti day, a Secret Santa and grotto, festive Stay and Play, Christmas jumper day, Christmas dinner and a church carol service.
Gus then had a cold and as well as still not ever having slept through, he was now waking every couple of hours because he couldn’t breathe and wouldn’t settle in his cot so had to be brought into bed, which meant no-one got any sleep because we were all paranoid about how safe this was. Exhaustion trumped the fear.
Christmas Day came and I was ill, which lasted til New Year’s Day, and hit me like a steam roller the day before New Year’s Eve with plans cancelled.
I felt a huge pressure to be very, very happy, which was unrealistic and the whole thing had a stressful buildup with a side serving of anti-climax.
Gus’s main present was a bubble machine, which turned out to be a cheap Chinese knock off from Amazon that burnt through six Duracel batteries in three days and intermittently burped out the occasional bubble before grinding to a halt – exactly how I felt.
We bought far too much food for the four of us and were stuck in the house eating endless leftovers as the rain never abated.
I felt guilty I couldn’t do much with Herbie and paranoid Gus was going to get my sky high fever. In fact, he ended up with infections in both ears and an extremely sore throat, which meant he couldn’t be put down without crying.
Next year, I wish to celebrate Christmas a month later, when there is no expectation, everything is cheaper and there’s no competition about who is having the best time.
Image from Pixabay