Ho, ho, ho. . .$#*@

I put up my Christmas tree yesterday. I plan on decorating early this year and I have every intention of making my house look like a freakin' Santa's Village. I'm talking a wreath in every room, enough lights to see from outer space, 2 Christmas trees, Santa and snowman knick-knacks on every available surface, fake mistletoe, and trains. Yes, trains. My ipod has been fully loaded with holiday tunes for at least a week. I might even buy one of those inflatable snowmen or a motion-activated Santa.



I've decided that if I surround myself with Christmas kitsch and I just keep telling myself what a fantastic season it is, even though it's our third one TTC without a BFP, maybe I'll start to believe it. It's kind of like when I try to eat healthy and tell myself how much I like salads, really I do. I just love leafy green vegetables. Yum. Although, that's probably not the best analogy because really. . .I hate salads.



And right now I hate Christmas. For me the number of holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries that have passed since we started TTC is a harder number to face than the number of months. I guess it's because when I envision having a family, it's those special events I think of, or fantasize about. My fondest memories of childhood, of family, are centered around those moments. I want to bake gingerbread cookies with my child. I want to help my child make crappy paper chains and gluey ornaments to hang on the tree. I want to see my child's face light up on Christmas morning. Everyone else gets to do those things. When will it be my turn? (she says in a whiny voice)



That's one of the hardest parts about Christmas for me. Everyone's fertility, or lack thereof, is right there in my face. It's unavoidable. It comes in the mail every day in the form of holiday cards with the obligatory photos of all the kids. Look, this couple got married the same month we did and here's their 18 month old wearing a reindeer hat. These friends got married last year and here's their "new little elf." Opening each card is like a little stab to the heart. I should just let them pile up, yet I can't not open them. I must have some compulsion to torture myself. I think it's somehow related to the compulsion I have to check out posts on the WTT board. Why, why do I do it?!



After looking at all the "baby crying with Santa" photos, I always debate whether DH and I should still send out our holiday cards with the photo of our two dogs in elf hats. I adore our dogs, but every year the furbaby photo seems just a little more pathetic. And the chance to send out a photo of our baby crying with Santa seems that much farther away.



I really would prefer to skip December and go right to January. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day is blissfully fertility free. Unfortunately, I can't do that so instead just pass me the frickin' ladder. I've got a neon sleigh and 8 reindeer to put on the roof. Ho, ho, ho.