It was so cute. They were so cute. My son, (the youngest child) just looked at Santa speechless and with wonder. His eyes were huge. My son was captivated. My daughter spoke a million miles a minute. She was so excited. She for sure did enough of the talking for BOTH of them. I stood back and watched and let them both have their minute.
A bunch of thoughts went through my head. Thinking of being a kid at Christmas. The excitement. Thinking about how all this get up, the lights, the man in the suit, the beard the annoying little elves helping, (do only bitchy women apply for this job), the music and the over priced pictures and the crowed of stressed out parents, babies crying and kids demanding their wishes is all forgotten the second you see your child look at him. I miss that magic. I miss that excitement. I miss that REASON in life to imagine and believe.
So I paid $14.00 (SHIT) for a Polaroid of my kids sitting on the lap of a (surprisingly) very real looking Santa. To have them come running to me in total excitement. My youngest said I saw Santa and ___________ (my daughters name) told him what I wanted. I asked him why HE didn’t tell Santa what he wanted and he said his “words were stuck” how cute.
My daughter just then pulled on my sleeve and pulled me down to her tiny face. She pushed my hair behind my ear and whispered in my ear, “I told Santa I want daddy to be home more”.
Tears filled my eyes.
Damn affairs and broken hearts.
My child has given up any and all desire for a gift that a normal seven year old girl would want. A pony. A Justin Beiber CD, an iPod, and has asked for the one thing that a CHILD should never have to ask for.
My poor, broken baby girl.