After going through this post, I've realised that it really needs to be broken down further - such an eventful time of year :D This post is mainly about Christmas with the family and the next should hopefully bring us up to date.
Well, what a Christmas! We agreed this year that since A wanted to spend some time with her sister and I couldn't fly so close to term, we'd take our chances and have separate Christmases this year, with me travelling to spend time with my parents in Devon the day before A flew out to her sister's family in Ireland. My mother was especially excited to have a family Christmas this year, with baby so close to due and this being my sister's last year at home before emigrating; she had gone all out on decorating rooms, shopping for everyone's favourite food and planning meals over the festive week.
It was like the magical Christmases of my childhood - right down to the little foot-and-a-half tree I found in my room, lit up and waiting for me.
I received the call from my consultant the day after I arrived and immediately, the holiday felt ruined. Perhaps it was frustration at everything going down so close to my due date, perhaps it was the fact that it was happening whilst I was getting ready to enjoy a really special Christmas, perhaps it was just hormones; I cried for a solid hour after speaking with her - just contemplating having our baby girl arriving under such circumstances when everything had been going so well! I dragged myself out of the funk I was in that day by holding onto one thought: at 38 weeks, baby was fully developed, presenting head down and I was far enough away to keep them waiting on a potential induction whilst I took matters into my own hands. Long walks. Bouncing. Curries. Here we go! By Christmas, I was starting to feel more relaxed. I had plenty of time before I was expected back for another blood draw and my plan was going to work.
Christmas day started in the usual calm and casual manner our family prefers: a summons to my youngest brother's room to open my stocking with him, a brief gathering at the tree for a couple presents each and then breakfast. I've always had fond memories of gathering as a family for Christmas breakfast. Everyone gets involved setting table with the seasonal cloth and mats whilst the parents are dishing up cooked breakfasts for those who want it, filling bowls of cereal and heating up the pastries. Once my sister and I have finished ferrying things from kitchen to dining room and have coaxed the boys away from their current collective obsession (this year: rubix cubes) we sit to table and enjoy time together. My appetite wasn't brilliant that morning but for baby's sake, I managed a couple pastries with some tea.
After that, it was on and off present opening during the day, a few at a time interspersed with eating, movies, walking the dog and (for me) napping. Right now, I look back on this day and others like it from when I was small and two things stand out: Firstly, how much more fun you can have if you take your time on the day, instead of turning it into one big present opening frenzy before crashing for hours afterwards. I plan to follow through with this kind of structure when baby gets old enough to really get into Christmas; from the little token present the night before Christmas to the not-a-surprise-any-more-but-we'll-pretend last present before bed, including all the traditions I used to enjoy as a girl such as the family breakfast and heading out for a brisk walk before settling down for the evening.
The other thing is how wonderful it feels to be a part of a larger family at Christmas. There were seven of us gathered together on Christmas day (would have been eight, if A had been with us) and I know this was one of the things that made the day so special. It only made me more excited to imagine family Christmases in the future: A and I sitting comfortably together with our morning tea, two, three or -dare I hope?- more children, excitedly tearing into their little stockings, the smell of warm pastries drifting in from the kitchen....
Boxing day is usually a low-key day for us, spent tidying up the small piles of gifts that have accumulated in everyone's preferred corners, putting together anything that needs assembly, reading, talking, checking emails and watching the lunchtime movie. Sometimes extended family will stop by for an hour or so, to exchange gifts and catch up on family gossip. On these occasions, mum will lay out a buffet style lunch of leftover meats, salads, cheese, crackers and dips - the usual affair. The evening usually passes without much fanfare. This year was different. I felt different; tired but restless, hungry but not, wanting to be with people but developing a sudden aversion to the busy social hub that our living room had become. I had started getting backache and my Braxton Hicks contractions were starting to feel a little stronger.
By dinner time the next day, I was getting less comfortable as time went on and my mother and sister insisted on taking me to get checked out at our local A&E unit - they in turn sending me to the labour ward for assessment. That evening felt so surreal, sitting with a continuous monitor on baby and the regular beep of the blood pressure cuff taking a reading. I admit, it was a little exciting to think that baby was so close to putting in an appearance (although a part of me already knew that, with the contractions being more uncomfortable than painful and not quite regular, it wasn't actually labour) Once the midwife had discharged me and we had arrived home, mum was still watching me like a hawk. My sister made a point of asking us to come wake her if anything happened during the night and mum recommended she keep clothes by the bed, ready. I tried to remind them that prelabour (which I felt it was) could last for weeks and I was fairly sure nothing would happen that night but still - a part of me was picking up on their excitement. One week before my due date and it looked like everything was about to kick off.
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