I’m really excited about Christmas this year, it feels like a milestone. You may remember Christmas was a difficult time for us last year. On Christmas Day Theodore screamed relentlessly, refused to feed and showed no signs of giving up his sleepless ways. I remember crying over my pudding whilst my poor friend Hannah tried to bounce him into a calmer state, attempting to feed him expressed milk for fear he would dehydrate. Somewhere in there, we celebrated the birth of Jesus.
This year we’re celebrating in a new city, in a new home and with a new set of friends. We have a sweet-faced, chubby-legged boy whose ways could win the frostiest heart. He and his sister have formed a cosy and formidable twosome, sleep soundly all night and are currently loving the Peter Combe Christmas album. We’ll shortly be heading south to spend Christmas with family, but nevertheless I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to celebrate in our own Brisbane way, bringing out mementos of our German Christmases, memories both painful and wonderful. The purchase of a Christmas tree (real or otherwise) seemed unwarranted, so we decorated a frangipane branch that fell during the recent storm. So much more Brisbane than a silly old pine.
Feeling inordinately blessed this year.