Visions of Sugar Plums

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Per Sweet Baby’s and my usual morning routine, we yawn and we stretch, and then blearily walk/crawl (contingent on our respective capabilities) into the living room. I then step into the kitchen nook to make coffee and toast, while Sweet Baby heads over to the pile of New Yorker magazines I’ve been saving to read during quiet moments (which never actually come) and happily engages himself by ripping the pages out one by one and triumphantly waving them in the air.

I must be honest; the delight he takes in shredding the magazines is greater than that I would have by reading the articles. If I notice in time, I might swoop in to rescue a poem before it joins the wasteland of confetti amassing on our floor, but otherwise I allow Sweet Baby his fun.

Given his aptitude in tearing apart magazines, I had assumed Sweet Baby would naturally be gifted at unwrapping presents. So without much ceremony, on Christmas morning, Liam and I surrounded him with a pile of brightly-wrapped presents. Sweet Baby was very happy with this, and showed his gratitude by pulling off all the bows and stuffing them in his mouth. I think he was trying to see how many would fit at the same time. But though we coaxed him and coached him, he would not take part in ripping the paper off any of his presents. So Liam and I took turns holding Sweet Baby and unwrapping the boxes we’d wrapped the night before.

It was the happiest Christmas I’ve ever had.

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‘presssssents!’

 

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happily collecting all the bows

 

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please note: the only thing left with a bow on it is the baby.

 

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