His first Christmas he was only 6 months old. I spent the day predominantly worrying about whether we could alter his life-consuming nap schedule to correlate with his other baby cousins' naps for us all to have dinner together. (We did but dinner lasted approximately 10 minutes due to 2 babies and a 2 year old whose naps were all out of whack!)
His second Christmas was about as special a Christmas as you could ever have, in retrospect. At the time it was a bizarre kind of dream. He was 18 months old and had been whisked away at bedtime 2 nights before Christmas to Granny's house, where he spent 2 days with cousins and uncles and aunts, being spoiled rotten. On Christmas morning he opened one present with his cousins before getting in the car to come home. He walked into our house to find a brand new, tiny, sleeping baby brother in a Moses basket surrounded by other presents. It makes me weep to think about their first meeting on the Christmas morning but of course he won't remember it, and wouldn't have understood the significance of the moment anyway.
