Holiday Cut

Rewind a couple of years and land yourself at a Christmas occasion with me in our late-late twenties with my new baby.

 

So, with this rewind, I'm twenty-nine and N is in my arms for every holiday occasion. My bloodshot eyes sting from the cameras and the flashbulbs going off everywhere. Who knew my parents could lead a double life as members of the paparazzi? N was so darned cute, and my family so dear that the holiday was still a good time. 

Weeks later I clicked through the digital Christmas photo files on my mom's computer in one of those side-show type set ups. To show my parenting bias I must say that N was a stunner. Frame after frame she was just captivating. Blending together the best features of her mediocre parents and kicking it up a notch with her sweetness and...well...she is exquisite. Always has been. Not that I'm biased. I sat on my mother's floral print couch, cooing over photos of this gorgeous creature that is my kid and wincing at the pale, pasty-faced person with greasy hair holding her. 

Whoever you are, wherever you're naturally inclined to fall in the powder puff scale of personal appearance (whether you're well assembled and spotless every morning or the sort of person who gives your crumpled shirt a sniff-test on your way out the door) newborns will take you down a notch. Maybe two. My new parent personal appearance descent is excruciatingly well documented from that first Christmas. Tinsel sparkling in the background.

You can end the rewind on the tape there, thank you. For the record: I no longer own the shirt I was wearing. I should have given it more than the sniff test that morning.

N is nine years older and just lovely. I've had a little more sleep and also made a holiday habit of getting my hair cut just before the family gatherings commence. My appointment is this week.