Today, Christmas took on a whole new meaning. We spent the morning playing elaborate train tracks and ransacking the entire house in a search for the remote control for the train (which I eventually found in the one toybox I deemed it wouldn't be in, so had left til last), only to realise that actually, it's far more fun to just push the trains around with your hands.
After a nap, Jacob and I burnt gingerbread (hey, at least he won't be hyped up on sugar all day...) and made a yule log in lieu of a proper Christmas cake, which only I would eat.
Jacob was so excited about the presents under the tree, and kept asking to give us one ("Just one for you Mummy"). After dinner, we wrote a letter to Santa, rolled it up and stuffed it in his stocking, which he hung by himself from the mantel [no chimney] with care. So different from last year, when he really had no idea what was going on, and was a bit overwhelmed by it all (a feeling I seem to be sharing this year); and the year before, when he was a baby of 9 months and we were all struggling through a horrendous gastric bug.
We're going through some tough challenges at the moment, behaviour-wise, which seems especially hard at this time of year. But when he's nice, he is such a wonderful person. "I luff yew Mummy", he says, grabbing my face with both hands and pulling me in for a kiss. He's so utterly charming, and cheeky, and wonderful, and I'm so blessed to have him. He went to bed late, but I'm wagering he'll be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to tell us that he heard Santa "Doing STOMP, STOMP, STOMP on the roof Mummy". He's been talking about it all day.
My heart.
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