The days leading up to Christmas were filled with bowl games, baking, decorating, and shopping with my in-laws. I had morning sickness on and off, but was mostly able to keep it under control. It was shaping up to be a good Christmas!
By Christmas Eve, the hormones hit. I didn't want to spend Christmas away from my family. I knew they were just 6 hours away, doing all the traditional things I wished I was doing, with people I had known and loved for more than just the short time I'd known Paul's family.
Nothing was the way it was supposed to be. My in-laws are much more health-conscious than my family. I was used to piles of leftover baked goods from treat plates for the neighbors: marshmallow brownies, blondies, sugar cookies, caramels, fudge (chocolate AND peanut butter!), and Hershey kiss cookies. There were always at least five kinds of pie, huge boxes of chocolates all cut in half to see the insides, hard candies no one would eat, and my dad's favorite nuts. I missed the dessert bar!
We went to a Christmas Eve party at Paul's aunt's house. It was a traditional turkey dinner that I would have had at home, with fun Christmas place settings, and a gift exchange afterwards. I was having a good time, and starting to get back into the Christmas spirit.
We got back to my in-laws' around 11, tired and worn out. We lay in bed in the dark, and I started to cry. My sweet husband asked what was wrong. "We didn't do the Christmas story from the Bible. We're supposed to read Luke 2 and move the nativity set pieces around. That's what they did in Idaho tonight." Paul immediately pulled out a Bible, and we read the story of Christ's birth together. I felt much better after that.
On Christmas morning, I woke up at 6:30 am. And threw up. And threw up again. And threw up again. Luckily, there were no kids spending Christmas with us, just Paul's parents and his grown up sister. So we stayed in our room all morning. I was miserable. And it seemed so much worse being at my in-laws'. They didn't know how I wanted to be taken care of. And I had to "cover up" every time I ran to the bathroom in case my father-in-law walked by and saw what I was wearing to stay comfortable!
I wanted my mom.
I finally felt stable enough around 11 to make my way out to the living room with the rest of the family. I was sick, grouchy, and resentful. Why couldn't I be in the comforting familiarity of my own parents' home? Why did I have to put on a happy face for these people I hardly knew?
I got all set up on the couch, and Paul brought me an overflowing stocking: an extra one they had around the house that he had made when he was younger. It was full of nice and useful gifts, even a ticket to a play months later - way more expensive and thoughtful than the small sockful of candy Santa would usually bring me at my parents' house. But I still missed home.
Then my mother-in-law brought out a bright red stocking that I recognized right away. It was anything but fancy, very small, and was starting to wear thin, but in letters cut out by the hand of someone I loved dearly was the name: BETHANY. It was MY stocking! Somehow, Paul's mom had MY stocking! I burst into tears, and held the stocking in my hands. A piece of the Christmas I was missing back home was now here with me.
The rest of the day is a blur. I don't know what other presents I got, or how many more times I threw up (it was a lot!), but I will always remember the thoughtfulness of my mother-in-law. She may not have known exactly how to help me when I was throwing up over and over again (though she really did try everything), and she may not have given me the traditional Christmas I was used to, but she knew that I would be missing my own family on Christmas morning. And for that, she knew just what to do.
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