[Gregory] The Christmas Miracle

by Lori Gregory
December 3, 2008

I’ve always loved the holidays. I like the fall smells in the air, eggnog lattes and almost any dessert spiced with cinnamon. I especially adore the whiskey drinks and how no one seems to mind if you get publicly drunk between the last week in November and Jan. 1.

I would probably enjoy Christmas a lot more if I didn’t have to travel to 14 different destinations to visit all the people my parents decided to marry at some point in their lives. This almost assures that when I get married, it will be the only time, and we will never, ever move. I take this whole “marrying” thing seriously. I guess that’s why it took me until the age of 32 to finally do it.

I can’t say the decision was really well-planned. The Man and I have been together long enough that he no longer runs screaming from family get-togethers when my grandfather decides to regale him with stories of the Koreans he killed in the war and exactly how far away his carbine was from their heads when he did this. He pretty much knows that “crazy” runs in the family and takes these scenes as indicative of the fun years our future holds when I succumb to the family “illness” and take to knitting scarves out of loose cat hair I’ve found around the house.

This decision to finally tie the knot came a few weeks after another decision colored by a few margaritas and the sheer giddiness brought on by the first presidential debate, which created the baby currently kicking around in my womb. Yes, we are those kinds of people. The kind of people who are perfectly happy living in sin until getting knocked up, and then decide we might as well take the plunge. We are both essentially lazy people at heart. It’ll be a blessing if this child actually gets named before starting kindergarten.

My mother was so excited that the 3-pound Yorkie she bought as “Grandchild Replacement Therapy” will actually be replaced by a real baby that even the Catholic parts of her didn’t tense up when I announced, in backward order: “Hey, I’m pregnant. Hey, I’m getting married! And, hey, a black man is president!” (All of these are equally statistically confounding.)

Like most of my previous holidays spent traveling to the Delta to celebrate with 60 other crazy Italians, this one will most definitely include the extra bonus of extensive conversations concerning my vagina and how it actually works. (Praise Jesus!) This has to beat last year when the bulk of the holiday was spent watching my grandfather put a birdfeeder on his head and attempt to speak Chinese while two of my aunts tried to convince me to get a boob job. Isn’t that just a whole special section of Hallmark they haven’t thought of, yet?

Just in case the rest of the family decides to get all up in my business regarding this whole “pregnancy and marriage thing,” I’ve put together a list of alterative activities that will surely chap their butts just as much as me staying single for all these years:

1) I plan on telling my very conservative uncles that—boy or girl—this kid will be named “Obama.” This is sure to kick off some lively holiday conversations that include words and phrases certain to be disallowed once the baby is born.

2) I plan on mocking the aforementioned 3-pound Yorkie with the fact that there will soon be a real grandchild, and he won’t be the favorite anymore. I’m hoping this causes him to immediately fashion a noose from the threads of his festive holiday sweater and curse himself for all the time he will miss being perched on my mother’s ample bosom and fed organic doggie treats.

3) When all the younger cousins ask the inevitable questions of “Where do babies come from?” I will inform them that babies come from margaritas, and then watch their little foreheads wrinkle in confusion.

4) I will tell my mother that instead of using the expensive baby sling she purchased, I will be sewing the baby to my hip and using its mouth to hold my extra change and car keys. I’ve said this a few times already, but the look on her face never gets old.

5) I plan to tell my grandfather that The Man and I desperately hope the baby is a homosexual because neither of us can decorate worth a damn and then watch his head explode all over my Aunt Diane’s Christmas banana pudding.

6) Although my morning sickness is finally abating and I no longer feel like throwing myself head first into the nearest intersection, I think I can work up one good vomit for the previously mentioned aunt who spent the past 10 years repeatedly asking my mother if she thought I was ever going to get married.

I figure that these six activities should take up most of the day. The holidays can’t be too horrible this year. After all, now that these important questions about me have finally been answered, we can all relax and rest assured that the world is in proper order, and I’m not going to stay single and drunk forever.

We can spend our time talking about real things—like how my cousin Blaine grows his toddlers so large and how it is my grandmother’s skin gets prettier with every passing year. We can talk about how excited I am to finally be creating my own family so that one day I can put a birdfeeder on my head and tease my offspring about their small boobs. I can dress my kid in embarrassing outfits and tell stories concerning the exact time their pubic hair finally grew in. After all, there’s nothing better about making a family than finally getting to pass down all the lovely traditions contained therein.

Happy Holidays, y’all!

 
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