So we've made the mince pies, I've wrapped the presents and, um, most of the gingerbread men have been scoffed. The Christmas carol concert at school has been attended, people have called round with cards. Now, all is calm. I'm enjoying looking at the magic stained glass biscuits my son and I made this week:
Reflections on my first Christmas separated:
Sharing my son with my ex hasn't been as gut-wrenching as I thought. All it means is that as I write they are having a loud party that I could never have coped with. And tomorrow, Christmas Day, they are going to friends for a similarly loud and raucous time, and rightly so. My son will come back to me tomorrow after lunch ready to float down a few notches to my level of doing things. In the meantime they will be having a ball, and I am quite content to be here with some good music, warm, cosy and quiet.
Tomorrow morning will, I admit, be hard. But no harder than trying to look with it and enthusiastic at 7am. Yes I will miss seeing my son open his presents, but I chose to do it this way so I can see him when I have a fighting chance of being at my best. Having the decision regarding arrangements for Christmas influenced by my prescription has strengthened my determination to kick the more damaging of my meds in the New Year.
Liberation from family...only certain groups of people gathered together at Christmas are capable of the levels of dysfunction that those who are familiar with such sufferings will appreciate. I cancelled my original Christmas plans, as it involved far too large a helping of family. I love my family. I just don't want them all round at mine on Christmas Day. And I wanted my son to have at least some positive memories of what for him is already a rather momentous Christmas.
No mad dash anywhere. I am extremely grateful for that.
I wish everyone a peaceful and restful Christmas.