The Reason For The Season!

And so Christmas is over.

After this past week or so of non-stop celebrating, I've come to the conclusion that having this new baby in 2012 is the best possible thing I can do for Andy's ego, which, by now, has basically inflated to the size of a volleyball. (Note: I've decided that standard ego size is approximately tennis ball sized, with more modest people hovering more in the golf ball range.) If Andy receives one more iota of love and affection or one more wrapped gift, I can only assume that his head will burst, creating the kind of tragic mess that will require five jugs of Resolve and ten years of therapy before things are even a little better. This holiday was truly all about Andy. Which is fine- it would kind of lame if we spent all weekend lavishing gifts and praise on, let's just say, me (although, I'll admit that might have been kind of nice), but, at this point, enough is enough. Andy, we all love you- nobody more than me- but at the tender age of 17 months, I fear you may become a spoiled rotten brat.

I don't know if this pending new sibling will be enough to stave off the pending spoilage, though. He may also need cousins. Somebody give this kid some cousins.

I exaggerate, but not really. I don't really think Andy is in danger of becoming spoiled, but it's pretty evident that he has a lot of people in his life who think the world of him, and when I mentioned the "reason for the season" on Christmas Day, my dad responded with "Andy?" No, Dad. Andy is not the reason for the season. I was talking about Jesus, son of God. Not Andy, son of morons.

I shouldn't have just called Chris and myself morons. But it just felt right.

Andy received tons of gifts this year, and if he could say "thank you" for each and every one of them, I'm sure he would. However, his vocabulary is still somewhat limited, so instead of verbally thanking everyone, he has shown his gratitude by taking apart all of his new toys and scattering the pieces around the house. I think the next five years of my life are going to be consumed with hunting down parts and reconstructing toys. Lots of bending in my future. Tons of bending.

He seems to enjoy the work bench we got him, although I suppose that should have been a given, considering it encourages hammer banging.

He also likes the bowling pin set my parents gave him- another given, since the goal is to toss a ball and knock shit down. Here's one more instance of the rampant bending that I predicted is in my future, though. Mommy- kisser of ouchies, provider of meals, wiper of doopas, and, of course, setter of pins.

He loves Rock Me Elmo, which sings and plays music. I was pretty impressed with Andy yesterday when he found other ways to play with Rock Me Elmo, including squeezing the Mr. Potatohead glasses on him and trying to cram plastic work bench pieces down his mouth.

Actually, there hasn't been a toy yet that Andy hasn't shown an interest in, which is nice. He's even played with some of the clothes. By throwing them. All over.

To me, this felt like Andy's first real Christmas. Last year, I'm not even sure if he could sit up yet. He had zero interest in what was going on and certainly couldn't partake in sharing Christmas dinner. He had a Christmas bottle and had to be wedged into his baby bumbo while I opened up his gifts. He had a lot less hair, too.

This year, his brown curls flopping like an ill-fitting wig, he ran around double-dipping his pita chips, tearing open his gifts, dancing with my mother's singing Halloween skeleton (she brought it because she knows Andy loves it but then was the first to demand that someone take it away from him), and babbling with words, half-words, and non-words. He laughed in delight, throwing only minor tantrums when overwhelmed and tired.

Oh, and I almost forgot about one of the best parts this year. The day after Christmas, Andy slept until almost eight a.m. THAT NEVER HAPPENS. It was a Christmas miracle. And I needed it, since I was recovering from a Christmas cold and in desperate need of sleeping in.

And, yes, to you non-parents, eight a.m. is sleeping in. And it's glorious. That toy, food, excitement, and attention hangover- that may have been the best gift I personally got this year. So, okay, a little spoiling of Andy is okay since it results in an overload that manifests into thirteen straight hours of sleep. But we must remember not to make it a habit, or to continue to put Andy on a level above Jesus. The reason for the season, indeed.

Andy, I love you.

Andy did make Mommy a Christmas gift at day care.  Here it is.