On the Eve of Your First Christmas

There is just one sleep until Christmas and I'm so excited, you'd think I'm the one expecting Santa. 

I've been dreaming of your first Christmas since you got here - and many years before. We'll wake up in the morning snuggled together in bed; lately, you've been waking between 5 and 6 when I pull you into our bed for another hour or two. You nestle into the crook of my arm and we sleep so well like puzzle pieces in their right spots. Matzah will join us from her cozy spot at the foot of the bed as we give each other good morning hugs and kisses. Matzah has become quite fond of you; don't take this the wrong way, but the more graham crackers you drop to the floor, the fonder she becomes. Your family will be delighted to see you as we walk through the door, the Christmas tree aglow and surrounded with presents. Grandpa will have started on the eggs, bacon, pancakes and coffee, and Grandma will make her Starbucks run before we dive into the stockings. Aunt Kim and Uncle Matt are in town, and later we'll have lunch with Opa, Oma and your uncles. There's never been a Christmas like this before.

You'll be 9 months old in a week and that feels like a lot to take in. You've changed so much since the last time I wrote. You crawl with great determination and speed, you pull yourself up to stand, and you babble up a storm. You're very interested in things and your smile is the absolute best. You play with M, D, and B sounds, and you've hinted at "Mama" and "Dada" recently. You're so smart, open and curious, but perhaps the thing I love most about you these days is your affection. Between messy kisses and peanut butter-covered hugs, you reach out for me and I reach back. We hug and I kiss you all over as you giggle. You look for me in a crowd and I find you. You'll never have to wonder who my eyes are locked on; it will always be you. My heart catches in my throat at the thought of you.

There's this precious thing that happens to us sometimes. We'll be somewhere and a man will stop to look at us. It's always a man, and his face always softens as he studies us. He asks an interested question, like how old you are or how you're enjoying the holidays, and wishes us a great day. Yesterday, a nice man walking his dogs tenderly said to me, "What would we do without our moms?" then walked away smiling. You and I had just been making sweet faces at each other while I was at the trunk pulling out your stroller. I'm sure this man saw our loving exchange and felt a familiar tug at his heart. It's the one I feel for you and I know you feel, too. I imagine he was thinking of his own mom when he saw us. This has happened before and it's incredibly sweet. I'm touched that others see what we share.

Your first Christmas has been so special. We've slept in, gone to the zoo, visited Santa, looked at lights, spent time with friends, read How the Grinch Stole Christmas and baked gingerbread men. If this is all a dream, don't wake me up. Santa comes tomorrow, but you're the gift I've wanted all my life.