Baby wakes up at the crack of dawn. Tell yourself this is because she’s really excited about Santa coming despite the fact that she has no concept of Santa, or Christmas, or presents, or anything really, due to her baby-ness.
Put a present in front of Baby and help her tear off the wrapping paper. Baby puts the wrapping paper in her mouth. Show her the box underneath the wrapping paper. Baby puts the box in her mouth.
“No, no,” you say. “It’s what’s inside the box.” Take out some baby toy made of brightly-coloured plastic. Baby puts it in her mouth.
Give Baby another present. Baby grabs at the wrapping paper and puts it in her mouth. Etc, etc.
Baby starts to fuss. Take a nap break.
Baby wakes up. Eat breakfast. Open more presents for Baby, even though it’s clear by now that she prefers the wrapping paper to the gifts inside. Take photos of Baby in a tiny Santa hat. Christmas!
Baby starts to fuss. Daddy takes her out for a walk while you desperately try to make the Christmas dinner you were supposed to have started preparing days ago.
Daddy returns with Baby. You and Baby Skype with the grandparents while Daddy tries to clean the living room, which looks like Christmas vomited all over it.
Eat Christmas dinner as quickly as possible before Baby remembers how much she hates her high chair. Watch her gum a roast potato while you down a flight of festive beers.
Baby starts to fuss. Take her out for a walk while Daddy does the washing up. Peer into the windows of the houses that you pass, which are full of Christmas trees and happy-looking people wearing paper crowns, and get a warm feeling in your stomach that just might be the Christmas spirit. Or maybe it’s a buzz from the 7% Christmas beers you just necked.
Baby wakes up from her nap. Come home and finish opening presents in a rush, as Baby is kind of over this whole Christmas thing.
Put Baby to bed. Eat a quarter of a pecan pie. Pass out with exhaustion at 8:30pm.