getting silly,  Little Mister

But he’s never gonna remember it!

Pic: My own Christmas tree. Which I decorated. Whoa.

So December 25th will be a special day. It’s all about the baby. And I’m not just talking about baby jeebus (although clearly He is the reason we all celebrate a day where we can eat until we’re in food comas and bitch about the crappy gifts we receive…”You don’t even know me at ALL!” even though none of that has anything to do with the original meaning of Christmas).

This will be the Little Mister’s first Christmas. Which is all very exciting. A new child in the family means new traditions. I’ve purchased the little guy a very generously sized Santa sack from Target and now I realise that each year this sack will have to be filled to the brim with thoughtful gifts until some evil, precocious kid with too many older siblings tells him that Santa is just your mum and dad sneaking around in the middle of the night (which of course is a lie – Santa’s totally real). Which, if anything like my childhood experience will raise questions about the tooth fairy and the easter bunny. That was one tough day.

I am determined to make this Christmas a special one. It will be the Christmas that will set down the traditions and family memories for perhaps the rest of my hubby’s and my lives. NO PRESSURE. I say this with tongue planted firmly in cheek, but the basis of it all rings true. Also, I am a little bit of a nutter…

This year I decorated the Christmas tree at the beginning of December. Not halfway through the month with unenthusiasm. I did this all while recovering from a C-section and tending to a 3 week old baby. Now if that doesn’t impress your socks off, then I don’t know what will. I even saved the special ornaments that were given to us for Little Mister, so that my Husband Man could be there with us when I put them on the tree. I am totally parenting that sh*t up! OK, that last sentence should have my parenting license revoked. Apologies.

The Little Mister will be 7 weeks old on Christmas day, so basically he won’t remember a thing. Which won’t stop me from wrapping his presents in festive paper (even though he can’t even unwrap them). I thought about not doing anything of the sort or just buying a big box of nappies for him (that sh*t’s expensive – literally) and chucking a bow on top, but then the crazy new mummy part of me decided that I have to buy him something! Even if there’s hardly anything good for a newborn on the shop shelves – turns out the fun doesn’t truly start until you’re three months old. Might have to get the kid a fake ID so he can play with all the good stuff.

And you know how albums of Christmas songs and carols can be frickin’ annoying? There’s the Mariahs and the Biebers and the Gleeks. There are the terrible kids’ albums full of cheesy keyboard music with creepy vocalists. Each year of my adulthood, these types of tunes have wafted through busy, bogan filled shopping centres driving me batty and making me a little Grinchy. But this year…this year is different. This year I have decided that the Little Mister needs to be exposed to all the Christmas songs I listened to when I was little. Sure, I’ve managed to find some bearable versions on iTunes but I have basically become my parents. Playing the songs while dancing like a dork in front of the Christmas tree. Singing them off key to my poor innocent babe who did nothing to deserve such punishment. Maybe it is a good thing he won’t remember this time…although I’m hoping that he too will want a hippopotamus for Christmas.
I’ve bought my little man a particularly embarrassing outfit for Christmas day. I got it for $9 and he’ll only get to wear it once, before it’s no good to him and will be placed in the bottom of a crate somewhere until it can be bestowed upon an unfortunate second child. It’s a jumpsuit made to look like a Santa outfit. It comes with a hat and everything. He’ll probably dribble milk all over it by lunchtime and poop through it by late afternoon. Fun times! I am going to take so many photos, that he’ll have to skip the country by the time he’s 21 because those pictures will be going on a big, embarrassing photo collage of his life at his 21st birthday party. Along with some obligatory naked bath photos – why does everyone have those? You know the ones. Usually it’s you and your very best childhood friend sharing the tub, while one of your mums washes your mullets/bowl cuts. Or you and your sibling squished together in a makeshift tub (more of a bucket) on that camping trip in the 80s. Don’t pretend there isn’t one of you out there.
And to think that I hoped to be a “cool” parent some day…
On Christmas day, my firstborn will be showered in gifts, fussed over and talked to as if he actually has the faintest idea of what’s actually going on. Which he doesn’t. He’ll probably wonder what all the fuss is about, before crying his little head off because his nappy is dirty! Which incidentally, smells suspiciously like ham that has been left out in the sun. Nothing says Christmas like a baby that smells like bad ham! ๐Ÿ˜›
Let’s face it. A baby’s first Christmas is really all for the adults. It’s just one big excuse for us to play with toys we’re too old for, to believe in Santa, to relive beloved family traditions (while creating some new ones) and to be a bit silly! I can’t wait! ๐Ÿ™‚
How are you spending Christmas day? Do you have any traditions you love?