I woke up with a sense of dread this morning. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. I have a history of depression, and I used to wake up with this feeling (when I could actually sleep) pretty regularly when I was depressed. It concerns me a little bit because I’d like to avoid another bout of depression (although I’m sure it would be understandable for it to happen now), but I’m comforted by the fact that I’m seeing a therapist on my own, Dave and I are seeing a therapist together, and we’re starting in a couple of weeks with a support group for parents who have lost infants. It’s kind of a mental health overload, but there’s no doubt that we need it.
In addition to the dread I felt when I woke up this morning, I’m dreading the rest of this week. I hate that Christmas is in four days. We’re not doing anything for it (Dave and I are spending the day alone, together), but pretending it isn’t happening doesn’t make the reminders go away. There are music and decorations everywhere, but they aren’t nearly as bad as the commercials on TV. We’ve mostly been avoiding live TV, but we’ve already watched everything on our DVR and most movies are unable to capture our attention, so sometimes live TV is the only thing to watch. Most Christmas commercials seem to involve kids opening presents, which aren’t easy to see, but the worst commercial by far is that damn Kay commercial with the husband telling his baby-holding wife that it’s their first Christmas as a family. It’s truly a Christmas miracle that I haven’t thrown my computer or a brick through our TV in the dozen or so times that we’ve seen it.
Dave and I joked a few times while I was still pregnant that this would be our last boring Christmas, because we naively assumed that starting in 2010, we’d always have kids around to make Christmas more fun. So much for that idea.