I dedicate this little poem to my daughter Sari, who turns 8 on Christmas Eve, and all the other boychiks and meydles who get gypped every year because their December birthdays are caught in the middle of the Hanukkah hoopla.

‘Twas the night before Christmas

When all through the hospital

Not a creature was stirring

Couldn’t find a darn Popcicle.

My IV was hung

By my bedside with care,

In hopes that my doctor

Soon would be there.

Pregnant patients were nestled

All snug in their beds,

While visions of epidurals

Danced in their heads.

And grandma with her kerchief

And I in my gown,

Cursed every contraction

Like no one in town.

When outside the hallway

There arouse such a clatter,

“A Christmas babe is coming!”

Could I feel any fatter?

“My daughter is Jewish!”

I exclaimed as she fed.

So no red Santa hats

Atop her tiny baldhead.

And so it began

That 24th day in December

Christmas is now a holiday

I’ll always remember.

“The Mishegas of Motherhood” is the creation of Ellie S. Grossman, a St. Louis freelance writer and stay-at-home-mom who never stays home. Her stories are inspired by the real life of her family, including her two children, toy poodle named Luci, and her husband, but not necessarily in that order. Feel free to send any comments, prayers or recipes to [email protected].