I'm Scared of the Holidays

There, I said it. It's true. I think I'm actually willfully ignoring the fact that it's November, hoping that maybe they will go away and come back next year. 

I just don't know how I am going to keep it together. For a family always apart, Thanksgiving-Christmas- New Year's was the one time of year that we got to spend real, quality time together. The holidays are ours.

But not this year. This year, I'm staring down the barrel of eight weeks of family-centric festivities without my husband, Howie's father, and honestly it makes me crumble a little every time I broach the subject with myself. 

Of course, I will celebrate with my son. Of course we will overindulge in turkey and pumpkin pie (our favorite!), say prayers of thanksgiving and have a nice lazy weekend together. Of course, we will trim the tree and make cookies and sing Christmas songs. We'll watch old Christmas movies and open presents. And we will take lots of pictures for Daddy to see.

The problem is, I don't know when I will fall apart. It's bound to happen at least once (probably more), and I have found no science that can help me predict it. I'm afraid I'll burst into tears over the Christmas lights, or the homemade dressing, or a Charlie Brown Christmas, and my sweet, sensitive baby boy will break right down with me.

Maybe that's okay, grieving a little together. Maybe it will help Howie know it's OK to miss his Daddy. But it certainly doesn't fit with my plan to make sure he feels as little missing from his holidays as possible.

I have a giant gaping hole in my holidays this year. We'll get across it, I know. But it's going to be a rocky ride.

Maybe I should just tackle this tomorrow.