Nine Months and December

Mary is nine months old. (Yesterday.) She now has nine months of experience being out and about in this world which is approximately the same amount of time that she spent growing inside of me. And after nine months studying life, Mary is starting to get the hang of things, realizing its simple truths.

Say that, greeting other people with a wave and a 'hebo' is something you should always do. And hey, why not greet your little toys too. Or that nine times out of ten the stuff that Mommy and Daddy are eating, isn't nearly as good as your bottle. That teeth, baby teeth, big teeth, molars, canines, and particular wisdom teeth, are a big pain in the ass. That 'no' really only means 'no' if Mommy isn't laughing when she's saying it. That sleeping, sleeping in, and napping are actually quite fun. Who knew. That outside is generally better than inside; TV is boring; clapping to music makes everything better; and when you have a fever, Mommy's and Daddy's hugs and kisses are the best medicine of all.

Then December in Chicago happens, and all the figures that Mary had been counting in life's equation get reconfigured into something that must be very strange in an infant's eyes. I can only imagine what Mary must be thinking recently:

Like when did the world change from green to white? And what is all this cold, fluffy stuff around our house?
Why is my car seat ALWAYS so cold now?
Who is the bearded fat man that you so want me to like, why does he say, 'ho ho ho,' and why, oh, why did you drop me on his lap?

How come you brought a tree in our house? And what are these prickly little things in my crawling lane?

Where did ALL these BOXES and NEW TOYS come from? What, I can't play with them? NOOOO!

Can you please go back to singing my ABCs or perhaps a little Itsby Bitsy Spider? I don't know or really care about a little drummer boy.
I thought it was bed time - why are all these lights coming on up and down the street?
Do I have to wear my red pajamas AGAIN?

Like any first time mom, for the past couple weeks I've been force feeding Christmas to Mary. But unfortunately, when Christmas Eve rolls around, I still don't think she will have a clue about what's going on. And honestly, I'm fine with it.

So much of 'Christmas' is fabricated anyway and its true meaning is lost year after year. What I'm hoping though is that the one (or however many this is) thing that she will pick up is that our kind of Christmas is a time when wrongs are righted, embraces are sweeter; when time slows down and the world celebrates a hush; when family is close no matter how far away, and when the impossible becomes possible.

If she just understands that she can't eat the tinsel on the tree, I'll be okay with that too.

Lo.