The first Christmas stocking my parents (sorry, Father Christmas) provided for me was not entirely successful. On Christmas morning they eagerly laid out the stocking in front of me and helped me unwrap the first gift. I was entranced not only by the gift but by the wrapping paper and happily began playing with it. They tried without success to interest me in the contents of the rest of the stocking. How easily a baby is pleased! My husband and I read to each other sometimes and worked our way through the Little House on the Prairie books (much better than the TV series!). In those, a memorable Christmas stocking contains a stick of rock, a tin cup and an orange, and Laura and her sister Mary are amazed at the bountiful gifts. Consumerism has obviously moved us all on a pace, but not babies.
But it would hardly be right for our baby's first Christmas to pass by without a stocking. As amateur Father Christmases, we are rather feeling our way through the process. My stepdad, who is Swiss, arrives in time to show us how it's done by providing a St Nicolas boot on the 6th December - one of my husband's wellies about the same height as the baby filled with chocolates, satsumas and nuts which we helpfully offer to eat on the baby's behalf.
We discuss stocking-filler ideas and in the end, deciding not to go too mad since he won't notice anyway, I order three different little musical rattle-type things, a little book of baby signs (I know, I know, baby-signing, how Yummy Mummy is that? But you know, if he could tell me what he wanted it would help sometimes!) and a little set of finger puppets. And of course there will have to be satsumas, chocolate coins and nuts. Otherwise the Christmas Police will get us.
I say little items. The rattles come in a massive box but thankfully I can extract them and repackage them into three individual dinky-sized items. It turns out the book, which online appeared to be cute and small, is actually massive (about two hand-lengths square) and the finger puppets come with an A4 sized song to sing. So neither of them is going to fit in a stocking.
Whoops, a stocking! He doesn't actually have one, I realised today, so a hasty order has been put in.
Hopefully it will get here before Father Christmas does.
But it would hardly be right for our baby's first Christmas to pass by without a stocking. As amateur Father Christmases, we are rather feeling our way through the process. My stepdad, who is Swiss, arrives in time to show us how it's done by providing a St Nicolas boot on the 6th December - one of my husband's wellies about the same height as the baby filled with chocolates, satsumas and nuts which we helpfully offer to eat on the baby's behalf.
We discuss stocking-filler ideas and in the end, deciding not to go too mad since he won't notice anyway, I order three different little musical rattle-type things, a little book of baby signs (I know, I know, baby-signing, how Yummy Mummy is that? But you know, if he could tell me what he wanted it would help sometimes!) and a little set of finger puppets. And of course there will have to be satsumas, chocolate coins and nuts. Otherwise the Christmas Police will get us.
I say little items. The rattles come in a massive box but thankfully I can extract them and repackage them into three individual dinky-sized items. It turns out the book, which online appeared to be cute and small, is actually massive (about two hand-lengths square) and the finger puppets come with an A4 sized song to sing. So neither of them is going to fit in a stocking.
Whoops, a stocking! He doesn't actually have one, I realised today, so a hasty order has been put in.
Hopefully it will get here before Father Christmas does.
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