It happened last night—the quiet magic of the holidays wrapping itself around me like a cozy blanket. The soft glow from string lights along the roofline danced gently over my baby's face as he drifted off to sleep, his rhythmic breathing of suck-suck-breathe pulling me into a daze. That white padded rocker in the corner of his nursery—oh, how it cradles both of us so perfectly after a long day of chaos. Not too far away, tucked behind a thin wall, my older child lay nestled in her bed, her eyes heavy with exhaustion after hearing another bedtime story. My husband had read her "The Friendly Snowflake," a cherished tale handed down from my grandparents, one of whom is still alive today. She loved it as much as I did as a kid.
And then it hit me again—this overwhelming sense of motherhood, this deep connection that fills me up entirely. Being a mom isn’t just about feeding and clothing; it’s about creating moments, building traditions, and weaving those threads into something beautiful. Even when I mess up or say the wrong thing, I know we’re stronger together because we’re a unit, a family bound by love. There’s no way to fully articulate the rush of emotions that floods through me whenever I think about my kids—they’re my everything. And this time of year, with its sparkly decorations and endless possibilities, only amplifies those feelings tenfold.
I’ll admit, I worried that the whirlwind of preparations might overshadow the true spirit of Christmas. After all, there’s so much to do—baking cookies, shopping for gifts, wrapping presents—but instead of feeling overwhelmed, I’ve chosen to embrace it. We’re crafting our own traditions, making memories one step at a time. Like baking holiday cookies with my daughter, who insists on using her special little rolling pin to flatten the dough. She calls it her “magic wand,†and honestly, watching her giggle while sprinkling sugar crystals on the edges is pure joy.
Then came the unexpected detour. We broke our promise to save big-ticket purchases for January, opting instead to grab last-minute gifts for each other. It wasn’t planned—it just sort of happened when I realized how important it was to keep some things constant. Like wearing brand-new pajamas on Christmas Eve. That’s non-negotiable in our household. Mama’s rules, remember?
In the coming days, we’ll gather around the dinner table with family, swapping tales and sharing laughter. Games will be played, and inside jokes exchanged. But on Christmas morning, it’ll just be the three of us. No distractions, no interruptions—just pure, unfiltered moments of connection. To me, that sounds perfect.
As the final days tick by, I find myself humming carols under my breath while cooking up a storm in the kitchen. The scent of cinnamon and gingerbread wafts through the air, mingling with the soundtracks of classic holiday songs playing softly in the background. It’s a sensory overload, but in the best possible way.
To everyone reading this, thank you for joining me here. Your support and engagement mean more than words could ever express. Merry Christmas to you and yours!
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