Our Kind of Christmas Miracle

I feel a small twinge of anxiety as I am somewhat scrambling this Christmas.
This is the first year that I have not gone “all out”, (or “overboard as my loving husband refers to my antics) with gift giving for our littlest love.

I stowed away a secondary tablet for Beckett for the occasion, earlier in the year, and besides the cute purple case that we snagged to go along with it, there isn’t much else to note.

It will be accompanied by some favorite downloadable Disney episodes, a DVD copy of Disney Junior’s “Goldie and Bear”, and of course, some clothing, picked out specifically with textures and softness in mind.

You see, our boy is 5 years old. He is also nonverbal and on the Autism Spectrum.
Beckett cares not about materialistic things.
And for that, the world should envy him.

I know I certainly do.

However, as his parent, his mama, his life’s biggest cheerleader, I am feeling some guilt.
A piece of me is feeling like we should be doing more than wrapping up his new tablet (of which he needed a second one, as “charging” a device is an abstract concept around here, and very hard to comprehend).

I am feeling like I am not doing “enough”.
That I am not being enough.

Maybe it is the culmination of this year’s never-ending chaos.
Maybe it is the bright light that’s cast on “the hard” more frequently lately, as the rigidity takes hold, from constant schedule changes.

Looking at the holidays broken up into smaller pieces, and day dreaming on the “what if’s”, is always the source of the headache for me.

So I have made the conscious decision, the choice, to look at the larger, more intricate, chaotic and more beautiful picture of our world instead.

I am trying to get my mind to push past the vision of holiday baking, with Beckett helping to pour in ingredients.

Instead I lovingly gift wrap up a box of his beloved spoons that remain a stim object, instead of a utensil.

I am trying hard to leap over the hurdle of the thought of watching a Christmas movie together as a family in our festive jammies, cozy blankets, and drinking hot chocolate.

Instead, I fill my sweet boy’s cup with his favorite chocolate milk, wrap him up in footed jammies, and we will watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, on repeat.

I am rounding the corner away from the idea of waking up extra early on Christmas morning to the sound of my son’s excitement, and giddy laughter.
And the concept of torn, colorful gift wrapping covering the floors.

And instead, I am on board the “sleep in train” and we will open his gifts with him, one at a time, slowly, delicately, patiently.
We will wait until tummies are full, moods are calm, and expectations are muted.
Simply pivoting our Christmas morning into a Christmas afternoon.

Our Christmas is going to look different.

And so is our Easter, Independence Day, Halloween, Birthday’s and everything in between.

But I truly know in my whole heart that it is, in no way, going to be less beautiful.
And I think that for anyone making this conscious shift in mindset with us, that this is the most important thing to note.

It is going to be magical as ever, because it will put a smile on our son’s face.

There won’t be any loud music to overwhelm our boy.
There won’t be expectations of gift unwrapping, or posing for perfect photos (because to us, all the best are candid anyhow), and there won’t be toys and gadgets and “things” that Beckett pays no mind to.

No high volume of presents to feel a sense of unpredictability and uncertainty, or feel like a “chore” for him, as this is not a typical weekend/weekday activity, or everyday occurrence.

If ever our son grows a want to unwrap gifts, to pretend play, or to watch holiday movies from childhoods past, we will gladly oblige.
But we will not force it.

We are quickly becoming accustomed to this life.
This world that our child is holding our hands and walking us through.
This world that I am constantly learning something more about.

I think it may always feel a bit like a kick to the gut when a specific day hits the calendar. At least for awhile anyway.
That’s okay to say. And that’s okay to feel.
As long as you don’t live in that space forever.

This world is too beautiful for that.

But if you ask me, we have never lived a “lesser” life.
Not even close.
Our family is cloaked in color, and creation and adventure.

We have been given much, much more.
And for that, we have our beautiful, smart, silly, preemie miracle boy to thank. ❤

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I’m a Mama to a preemie miracle little boy, on the Autism spectrum. A loving wife of US Navy Veteran. A Blogger. A chaser of naps. And a lover of all things caffeinated.

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