Dear 2020

 I know it's been a while since I posted. Like, a long while. 

When I've wanted to post, I've been too busy with other things, and when I've been free to post, the thought of writing my thoughts down just exhausted me.

But I need it today - so I'm making myself do it. 

This time last year, I was six months pregnant. I was so excited about 2020. I was going to get to meet our son. I was going to get to go through all of those First Moments with him that I'd watched my nephew and niece both go through. 

And COVID robbed me of that.

Regardless of your thoughts on the effectiveness of masks or the actual impact of COIVD - our world is NOT what we thought it would be this time last year. Sure, COVID was something I was aware of, but it was in China and not our problem. 

I'm so excited about this Christmas, but also have so much hurt and anger around it. 

I'm trying my best here. I really am. But I have so. much. rage. 

My son's first Christmas was supposed to look like this: The week of Christmas, I'd bring him to my company Christmas lunch. I'd get to show him off and have everyone meet him. Hopefully Papa Bear could make it too, but with his work schedule it wouldn't be likely. Then, we'd go meet Santa. I'd get a picture that I'd turn into a Christmas ornament as a keepsake. I'd put the picture in his baby book and look back on it in the years to come. Maybe he'd be a melt-down baby (I doubt it). If anything, I'm pretty sure he'd pull on Santa's beard and grin. 

We'd go to the house near our neighborhood that goes BONKERS with Christmas lights every year. We'd get out and walk around to let Baby Bear see them. We'd try and do the Christmas event at the zoo too, but it'd probably backfire and Baby Bear would be fussy because it's throw off his nightly routine. Or maybe it'd be great and he'd have a blast and fall asleep in the car on the way home and not wake up as we tucked him into his bed.

Then Christmas Eve we'd go to a church service. Baby Bear would get dressed up in a church outfit and go down with all the other babies in the nursery. Then, we'd do dinner with my in-laws. Hopefully, the timing would work out and we'd be home in time to see Santa on the firetruck. 

We'd go to bed and Santa would come. 

Then we'd wake up and go back over to my in-laws and do all the family things. 

We'd go home exhausted and then make our way to my parent's house between Christmas and New Years. 

Instead it looks like this: The company isn't doing a Christmas lunch. We won't get to meet Santa - not really. There will be no picture. There will be no Christmas Eve service. The house isn't putting up their lights this year. Santa won't be on the firetruck. 

We'll still see family - but it won't be the same. Sure I could still go find a Santa. Plenty of people have. I see it on Facebook. I could still go to church, many people will - but respect that I don't want to risk it. I'm not writing this to invite trolls to get into a COIVD debate. 

I'm writing this to start to mourn the first year I thought my son would have. 

I know my son is part of a historic generation and his story is amazing and so unique - but still... 

It's not fair.

This isn't all I want to say. It's just all I have the energy to say today. 

And there are silver linings. I know that there are. I can already see some of them now. Daily I focus on the positive, but it's exhausting and today, today I'm tired. 

Mama Bear out, until next time.