I’m finding it amazing the lengths parents are going to prove Santa really has been.
I’m lucky. L doesn’t really understand and O doesn’t care as long he gets boob.
I suppose I never really stopped believing in the magic of Christmas as mum always made it special with her treasure hunts and string trails and present hiding. To this day she still does a Santa’s sack of bits for me. The magic was there. At 29 I could still imagine the fat man squeezingin our house and dropping off at least some of this stuff.
Now my eldest is aware of Santa. She might not understand but she’s aware. She knows that something massive is going to happen in the morning and that she wants a piece of it.
So now my illusions are totally shattered.
The requests for whiskey, mince pies and carrots all came from us. I had to wrap all the presents. I had to pay for all the presents. No elves were involved at all.
I feel empty knowing that when I go to bed tonight after leaving their sacks in the front room and a present in the bedroom that nothing else will appear. No more parcels will magically arrive.
I don’t like being Santa.