Birthday party purge ...

After the drama of yesterday, my head spend the next several hours pounding. It's much better now, thanks.



My nephew's first birthday is coming up. His older sister's birthday was the other day. So my step-sister planned a joint birthday party for them. Double joy.

Guess who's not going?

I was laying in bed last night and it popped into my head. This child's birthday. The one who's birthday is only a few days away from my own expected due date. The one I have yet to hold.

But it popped into my head after another thought ... kind of on the tail end of it. I'll explain ...

My step-mom has been in my life since I was literally a couple years old. Our family moved in next door to hers. She and my mom were best friends for years (no, I'm not kidding). No, she didn't cause their divorce - she was married herself and for more years than my own parents. I'm just saying ... she's been a parent type figure for me my entire life.

She and my dad started dating a couple of years after their respective divorces (that ended her and my mom's friendship, of course). I was probably about 9 or so.

My dad moved in with her a year or so later. I know they were living together by the time I was in middle school and I started middle school at 11. So 9 or 10 ... somewhere in that ballpark.

Anyway ...

The first Christmas they were living together was when our family tradition of how to celebrate Christmas started. I was there Christmas Eve until around 9 or 10, then my dad would take me home and I'd wake up and spend Christmas Day with my mom. It was like that throughout the rest of my childhood and has continued today - all of us kids congregate at my dad & step-mom's on Christmas Eve (now the siblings bring their kids and, yes, one even has grandkids she tows along) and then do our own family's Christmas on Christmas Day.

Back to that first Christmas ...

On Christmas Day, amidst the mayhem at my house, my step-mom calls to wish me a merry Christmas. And to tell me that Santa apparently got confused which house I'd be at because he left me a stocking at theirs.

Now, mind you, I was older and had known about santa for years (I caught my parents in a santa related gift fib when I was like 7). So it wasn't like I was this little kid who believed with all of their heart. But I was excited all the same. I mean ... who doesn't like getting 2 stockings of candy and goodies?!?

And that was a tradition until the Christmas after I turned 18. Every Christmas morning, she would call and it'd be the same line - Santa was confused again and left a stocking.

As a child and a teen, it was fun.

As an adult, I realized how much more than that it was.

It meant I was accepted and, more importantly, wanted. And it spoke volumes more as the meaning behind it than what the stockings contained.

I keep meaning to tell her this. How much it really meant to me that she would do this year after year.

And last night, this is the initial thought that started it all.

I really need to find a time to tell her. It'd do no good to talk about it after she's gone (no, she's not sick. But ya know ... you never know).

That's when the birthday party popped into my head. And my own miscarriage. And the fact that we were living with them at the time.

And that's when the anger reared its head.

Anger at having to be surrounded by baby stuff and happy baby talk while I continually mourned the loss of ours. Anger at her tell us how excited her new son-in-law was at their 6 wk ultrasound while I sat on the couch, still bleeding from our miscarriage. Anger at the complete lack of understanding and, worse, her failing to even attempt to.

Anger at that baby being brought up in (and I'm not kidding) every conversation we have.

I need to 1) separate the two and 2) let it the fuck go.

But I'm struggling with it. I want to not be angry with them anymore. At all. I want to reach the point where I can shrug and say ... it was what it was and now it's done. And mean it.

I'm finding that I can't.

And deep down I know it's not my step-sister's fault (although part of me wants to blame her for getting pregnant at the same time and having the nerve to deliver a healthy baby). And it certainly isn't the baby's fault.

So, as a daughter, I seem to continually assign the anger I may feel at those two at my dad and step-mom. Because if we're being honest, it's not pretty to be angry at someone simply because of their ability to do what my body fails at.

And it's surely not pretty to hold the wand of jealousy and self-centeredness, wondering why on earth she thought it a great idea to try and get pregnant when she knew I was (yet again) cycling.

But I'm not angry with her. It sounds like it, I'm sure. But I'm not. I can't blame her for wanting to have a baby with her new husband. I can't blame her for her body doing what it should. And I can't blame her as she never flaunted it. She actually was far more careful about the discussions she had around me for the first few months after my miscarraige than my dad & step-mom were.

It seems that I'm rambling. But I needed to throw this out to the universe before it ate me up even more.

I want to get past the anger at them. I want to be able to thank her for what she did for me with a clear heart, without any of the last year and 1/2 coming to the surface.

I'm just not sure how.