An excerpt from my letters to Reese.
Wednesday, December 25th – 8:45pm
On your first Christmas, you wake up before 6 am. True Christmas-kid energy. You could not be coaxed back to sleep. A bottle, playtime with new toys (Santa didn’t wrap the gifts this year, he’ll do better next year), and then a long morning nap to start the holiday.
We spend most of the day at the cottage. A breakfast of lefse, eggs, and sausage — a family tradition. You have avocado toast for the second time and are loving it. My little bougie baby. I have not quite settled into the messiness of starting solids. I desperately try to keep your dinosaur onesie free from green smears so you can wear it for the rest of the day. I fail, but not too badly so I keep you in the onesie anyway.
We take a Christmas walk midday and you nap through the first half but the wind wakes you up as we turn around—your poor rosy cheeks. You get cold and hungry and I take you out of the stroller and carry you for a quarter of a mile to comfort you before my arms get tired and you go back into your stroller for a power walk back to the cottage.
Later in the afternoon, you have a much warmer nap against my chest while I read the updated Dungeon Master’s guide and sip a third Diet Coke while the fire warmed the sunroom. Christmas is lovely.
You are lovely. Scooting across your playmat chasing toy soccer balls and rattles, letting me read to you Rainbow Fish board books from Mama Aspen, sitting on the counter island (so tired again) while we watch Mormor bake bread and I move bowls out of your reach. When Cappi gets home from work you smile wide.
I read you the Home Alone children’s book before bed tonight and you curl into my chest.
And you won’t remember this first Christmas, but still, I hope the memory settles somewhere deep for you like it will for me. A quiet, good day with the people you love and who love you.
With Love,
Natalie