Twelve. The number of times I have to painstakingly cajole a screaming toddler into eating dinner, observe as she causes a tidal wave in the bathroom that will seep through to the kitchen and eventually tuck her into bed with three quarters of all her earthly possessions to pacify the void of no dummy. Put simply, there are but 12 sleeps until Christmas. Joy.
My festive spirit has dwindled somewhat today, could it be yet another two days cooped up with a poorly toddler who won’t let me watch Christmas movies, just the same episode of Sofia the First on repeat. It could be all those little jobs that keep flitting through my head that need to be done or the fact that I’m sporting a hefty new prescription of glasses that are making the twinkly lights so garishly bright I need to lie down in a dark room. Whatever the reason I am starting to view the Christmas tree as a somewhat needy dependant who constantly needs sprucing up, more to drink and produces two lots of hoovering a day.
Anyone else feel like they need a festive kick up the butt? For now the plan is to write a list of all that needs to be done, get out for a run to blow away the cobwebs and pour a large glass of baileys when the babe is in bed. When Florence is feeling better we will resume our daily routine of a 4 o’clock stroll around the block. There’s something about holding her mitten clad hand in the mid dark and seeing her squeal with excitement at every set of Christmas lights that can’t help but cheer me up. To her, the humblest string of fairy lights is just as fabulous as that house with the gargantuan display, each excites magic and beauty in her eyes and isn’t that just the most wonderful thing. I have no doubt my festive cheer is just around the corner waiting to greet me with a warm embrace…