Week 7: Christmas Day

The tree is lit.
The star on top is silvery and bold.
Presents wait under the branches.

Cinnamon rolls and breakfast sausage are cooking. The room is filled with the magical smell of Christmas morning. Magic made by this mom. It’s the best day of the year.

This is our first Christmas as a family unit of two.

We’ve been through a lot, but this is the best Christmas so far. She and I agree.

Yesterday, my child and I went to a Christmas village. I called her “baby,” and I realized I need to stop. She’s not a baby anymore. She was a baby when we survived intimidation and control, but now she’s a girl. A girl who longs for love and attention.

I do too.

I didn’t know she was looking forward to a Christmas feast. She’s five. I thought Christmas was all about the presents. But yesterday, on Christmas Eve, she told me she was excited for the feast.

So now I’ll open all the cans. I’ll cook all the pasta and all the food we have. I’ll make Christmas lunch special, because it matters to her.

Who knew.

Now I know: every year she expects a feast for two. And so it will be.

There are so many kinds of love. The love I have for her is agape love, steady, protective, enduring. I long for a partner sometimes, but that longing isn’t helpful here. What is helpful is remembering that if I’m not careful, I’ll miss this stage too, the kid phase, just like I missed the baby phase while living in survival mode.

No recipe today.

Just a very real message:
Love is rare. When you find it, you have to hold on tight, not get distracted by your other needs. Everyone has needs. But love, real love, is noticed and protected. Agape love is sacrifice.

How do I train my brain to drop everything and give her what she needs?
Strong agape love.

The kind that pauses the noise.
The kind that chooses presence over primal instinct, romantic intimacy, and habit.
The kind that remembers this season is fleeting, and that loving her fully, right now, is the work.

I’m a good mother.
But I’m going to be better.