Our First Christmas with a Baby

Christmas Eve was perfect...in my mind. My husband, eight month-old daughter, and I would drive to town for our church's candlelight service to enjoy worshiping and fellowship. From there we would head home, thirty minutes away with the baby falling asleep in the car. We would get home at just the right time to change the baby and nurse her back to dreamland. After the baby drifted peacefully to sleep I would head to the kitchen where I would relax while sipping some wine with my husband as we prepared the bread for the homemade cinnamon rolls I was going to bake Christmas morning. Finishing up about 10:00, we would head to bed and peacefully drift to sleep as well, then to awake and celebrate the arrival of the Messiah.

It all sounded like a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting, but instead it ended up a Clark Griswald disaster. I forgot to factor in the unpredictability of an eight month-old baby. Our evening started out as planned, although I knew I would probably miss a few minutes of the sermon due to the wiggle factor (which was no problem). My husband and I enjoyed worship and talking to our friends, so far so good. Now it was time to head home for our nice, quiet evening. We stuck the baby in the car and got home without a hitch, just as I had planned. Next was changing the diaper and nursing her back to sleep. Check one, check two, then comes the exchange from mama's arms to the comfort of the crib, always an anxious moment (mommies, do you know what I mean?). With my heartbeat pounding in my chest I gingerly placed her in the crib as she wiggled a bit. No sooner had her head hit the bed, she sat up, looked around and let out a piercing, "WWWAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" Soon after, she made her signature move of pulling herself up to the side of her crib and rattling (while still screaming) the side of her miniature cell. This wasn't in the plan!

Rather than listen to her pitiful wails for the next hour I thought she could get some of that energy out and play for awhile. So we were going to have a little extra company for our relaxing evening. There are much worse people to spend an evening with than a personable, smiley eight month-old. No problem, I thought. I could get the bread ready and while it was rising try and comfort her back to sleep. As I started throwing ingredients together I became more optimistic that our evening would be salvaged. I was hard at work while my husband played with the baby, trying to keep her placated until I was finished with the dough. Unfortunately, with each knead of the dough she became increasingly whinier. I could only take so much pulling on my pant legs and so thought it would be an appropriate time to try and get her back to sleep. With mommy brain having officially set in I thought it would be nice to nurse her to sleep in the living room because I wanted to finish watching the movie we had started while my husband finished the bread. Twenty minutes later holding a seemingly sleeping baby I tiptoed to her room again, heart pounding in anticipation of "the exchange". Down....down....down she went. Contact! Then suddenly, boink! Up popped her little head and open went her little mouth with a scream that made the hair on my arms stick straight up.

The first feelings of frustration had embedded themselves in my soul, so I thought daddy might be more successful. So I semi-sweetly handed him the screaming infant and wished him luck as he headed to the dark confines of her room.

And there I was, sitting in the living room, slowly watching my peaceful Christmas Eve plans unravel before my weepy eyes and tired ears. If I hadn't known any better I could have been convinced that my husband was in there pulling her toenails off in an attempt to make her sleep, such were the screams coming from behind the door. As a feeling of guilt washed over me for sending my husband away with our hysterical child, I thought I would try to rescue him after some minutes had passed. He must have sensed my thoughts as he met me at the door informing me that she could just scream herself to sleep.

The thread that was holding fantasy and reality together was rapidly fraying. Then I couldn't help myself, the tears started to flow. My husband and I were frustrated with her, with each other, and I was just plain angry at how the baby failed to take into account my plans for the evening. I still had bread on the counter that had to be kneaded and shaped and it looked like that wouldn't get done for awhile.

My husband, at the end of his own frayed rope, offered to take her for a ride in the car, but teary eyed I said I would try once more to get her to sleep. I'm such a glutton for punishment. While my husband kneaded the bread, something I'm not certain he had done before, I started bouncing and sshhhh'ing the little one to sleep. Slowly, painfully slowly, she quieted down and drifted to sleep while I cried to myself in the dark, praying that things might only get better. My attitude had quickly soured, as had my husbands, but the baby had finally settled down! That was something for which to give praise! After about thirty to forty-five minutes of calming and getting her to sleep, my husband sneaked in to see if she was asleep. I told him I had been too afraid to move a muscle, so I had been rocking her for the past fifteen minutes, a hostage in my little girl's own room! I then gathered up the courage to put her back in her crib, hopefully for the last time that night. With my breath held and my heart thumping I gently placed her in bed and slowly pulled away. We both stared down in the bed and looked at our precious little girl sleeping as if nothing had happened. It was only 11:00! My husband went ahead to bed as I finished up the cinnamon rolls, still upset, but more at ease. At 11:30 I collapsed into bed with the tell-tale puffy eyes I had acquired from crying.

The next morning I awoke more refreshed, but still weary from the nightly ordeal. As I went throughout the day I thought about what I could have done differently and most of all and oddly enough what I could find about to rejoice in our evening. As a believer in Jesus Christ I am told "Rejoice in the Lord always..." Always would include those instances in which you don't feel like rejoicing, such as a surprise change of Christmas Eve plans. So Christmas night, as I rocked her to sleep, in a better frame of mind, I thought of opportunities I could have rejoiced in throughout the evening. I can rejoice that I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl who brings a smile to whoever she meets. I can rejoice that I have a wonderful, caring husband who loves me greatly, and loves and adores his daughter. I can rejoice that God blessed us with the responsibility of raising up our baby girl to love and fear him.

"The best laid plans of mice and men often come to naught." While this is often true, we may also find moments to rejoice in when plans fail. The greatest thing I found to rejoice in last Christmas was my own weakness because in my weakness He is made strong. The reason for Christmas is not for us to have our perfect plans prevail, not to have chosen the perfect gifts, or the perfect Christmas morning breakfast, but to praise the God of heaven and earth for the gift of his son. It is in that we should ultimately rejoice!