In the past Christmas has been my favorite part of year. I don't really like cold weather, but I do love the nostalgia, sweetness and magical nature of the holiday. Christmas is special. It's Rudolph and Elf and Ernest P. Worrel. It's advent and carols and nativity scenes. It's reciting Luke 2 and eating egg souflee with family.
This year, I wasn't very excited. I'm not very excited. I'm feeling like a lesser version of Scrooge. I started the Christmas season with negativity. I thought I had stopped giving myself deadlines for children, but apparently I hadn't. In addition to my weird body situation, I felt tremendous sense of apathy and pain in pulling out our Christmas decorations. It wasn't exciting for me, because it's another year without a kid or hope for one.
More evidence of becoming more real - I had an epiphany about how many people in the world are suffering at Christmas. My guess is that there are more people who associated Christmas with pain than with joy, especially for those who have lost loved ones, or are estranged from them, or are otherwise separated from them.
I'm getting a little more excited for Christmas as I purchase everyone's gifts. It was fun to cross stitch for my sisters. It'll be fun to be with family. The Christmas parties have been a fun diversion as well.
I've already processed this internally, and I'm not wallowing away at home. I'm not feeling as anti-Christmas or even as painful as I felt earlier, but I'm also not as full of Christmas spirit as I have been in the past. Maybe it's just part of growing up.
Okay seriously - I'm not trying to be pitiful here, I'm just sharing thoughts.