For all my griping and bitching about how I hate Christmas, I had one that is crystallized in my mind, perfect in every way. Get yourself a cup of tea, sit down and let me tell you all about it.
It was 1989, I was still relatively healthy and had loads of energy. Two weeks before Christmas, I cleaned and alphabetized the food in the fridge, while Bob put up Christmas lights. I went to the hospital an hour later, and came home with a new baby DD a few days after that. She was bald, way cute, and perfect. She even had my funky feet. (My feet are triangular)
I had been bawling in the hospital that I hadn't done one bit of Christmas shopping, and now how was I going to do it with a little baby? My brother asked me who needed gifts, and told me to leave the rest to him. On Christmas Eve, at the family get together, he produced wrapped gifts from me for everyone on my list. He did a great job of it, too. I have so appreciated his thoughtfulness, and will never forget it.
Both my parents and Bob's were freaking out, wanting to spend "Baby's first Christmas" with DD; but totally understanding that we weren't about to bring a two week old baby out for visits in ten degree, snowy weather. They all came to our cute little house, bringing all the fixings for dinner, and we had a great little celebration. Bob lit a fire in the fireplace, we all had hot mulled cider or wine, and passed the baby around so she wouldn't feel neglected. :-)
Because they were first time grandparents, our house was astonishingly full of toys, none of which were appropriate for a two week old child. Santa, taking a hint from the Mama, was more sensible and brought the little one a couple of pairs of socks, which was all she needed.
A week earlier, when DD was six days old, I took her and lay her on the floor in a baby-sized Santa suit and tucked her into a stocking. She looked darned cute, and the Photo-Quick was able to give me a hundred holiday cards with her photo in an hour. (Yes, we sent out combination Christmas Cards/New baby announcements)
One memorable Christmas card came from my [then] employer: A bonus in the form of a month's salary. Thank you very much.
The rest of the holiday seems like a happy blur. We were busy, of course, but it was a happy kind of busy. DD had not yet developed the reflux condition that would soon make her/our lives into a nonstop Hell for the next seven months. Right that minute, everything was perfect, and all was right with the world. It even snowed, showing off Bob's Christmas Lighting efforts to perfection. (He's a loon about outdoor decorating)
It really was everything you'd ever want in a holiday.
Kathy N-V