Was January ever a month to look forward to?
Christmas is over.
The New Years hangover has run it's course. (From lack of sleep of course)
The evil mailman delivers the credit card hammer.
Reckoning day.
Every magazine in Wal-mart mocks your soggy middle.
But don't worry, dieting books leach the shelves. Parasites that are soon betrayed by their hosts come mid-February.
The love of fudge turns into loathing as you pull your newly tight pants on.
Treadmill sales rake in the black.
Fists of cash are thrown down on the gym membership roulette table. Odds of getting your moneys worth?
Gray.
Cold. Bitter cold.
I'm going to do better.
I'm going to be better.
Lose weight.
Eat right.
Lose weight.
Bets are placed on the horse named Resolution.
31 days.
There's always Martin Luther King Day, the island of winter sanity.
Why is it the very month of hopes and dreams, a mark of succes, of making it through another year, is the least loved? Maybe we should ban mirrors for January. The ones that tell us there are consequences for holiday glutony. consequences for making it another year. The lessons learned clearly lined on our faces.
Is it January's fault? Maybe all the other months got to choose their places and January was the last one drawn out of the hat. And everyone said, hey, it's not so bad, you're the new year, you're the flag bearer. But he knew, if it wasn't so bad, someone like march would've taken it.
Poor January keeps getting told he's too fat and he's nothing like festive December. He tries to be hopeful, but the sun doesn't cooperate, and the irs doesn't either. They keep sending out statements and balances with letter and number combinations. Reminding everyone the piper gots to get paid.
January does have a few redemptive qualities. Hot chocolate. Books and blankets. Snuggly, fuzzy socks. Early dinners. Soups and homemade breads. Snowmen and sledding. Routine. Board games and family time. Making bubble blankets over the heater vent. Movies and snuggling.
But for me, the best part of January was the birth of my son Nathan. We both fought, we both lived. The nurses couldn't wedge his fat body from my arms. I remember laughing when they told me I couldn't lift anything over 8 pounds. Nathan weighed 9 pounds 7 ounces at birth.
He was my last miracle baby. Healthy, strong, and so warm against my chest. 5 years ago I hated December. Every day was a thousand. But January, oh how I loved January. Finally, finally, my gorgeous perfect little boy was in my arms. And today, we made cupcakes, and played with monster trucks. He sat on my lap and wrapped his arms around my neck. We had a kissing war. And I watched him blow out 5 candles.
So January, there are a lot of things about your time slot that could bring you down. But no other month can claim that they gave me Nathan.
Happy Birthday son.