Christmas is coming (and I am getting fat)

December 2003
My first real nativity...

I'M GETTING very excited about Christmas. Ashamed as I am to admit it, especially as I have spent much of the last few months berating the early arrival of the festive season in our shops and on our televisions, I'm now acting like a child waiting for the arrival of Santa.

In less than five weeks the big day itself will be upon us, and for some reason this year I am just busting to put up my tree and deck my halls with boughs of holly (whatever boughs are).I have a certain smug sense of satisfaction that, with the exception of something for Daddy-in-law (for whom I never know what to buy), the majority of my presents are bought and patiently waiting for me to assault them with my rather dodgy present wrapping skills.I have trailed the shops looking at delicate Christmas angels, sparkling stars and twinkling lights with the innocence and excitement of a child.

I swear, I've almost been tempted to send a letter off to Santa and my inner child has been merrily singing ""Jingle Bells"" on a continuous loop for the past week. (Of course, being pregnant means that the term inner child takes on a whole new meaning, but I am talking about the part of me that remembers the excitement and happiness of childhood celebrations.)In previous years I have steadfastly refused to get into the Christmas spirit before the arrival of December. I tutted and muttered under my breath at parents who trailed their wains on to Santa's knee at the start of November, and I avoided shops that displayed their Christmas wares alongside their Halloween goodies.But this year I have 'oohed' and 'aahed' with the best of them as the singing Santas have emerged from their dusty cupboards to take their place in shop windows and on Wednesday I was wide eyed with joy to see the Christmas lights glittering throughout the city. (Except when it came to the bridge.

I have said it before and will say it again, those new lights that wrap around the lamp posts do not look half as good as the old strings of lights which made the bridge look like a giant Christmas tree.)I love seeing the Christmas advertisements on the TV, and so far none of them (with the possible exception for those offering hampers for 2004 festive season!) have made me want to throw something at the screen in a Scrooge like rage.Only fear of being carted off in the white coats has stopped me from knocking on the doors of people who have already bedecked their houses in life-size Santas and those gorgeous icicle lights and singing in my less than melodic tones that I wish them a merry Christmas.Stress and strainOf course, not everyone shares my joy, (which may or may not be related to the fact that the start of the new year marks the start of my maternity leave and brings me one step closer to meeting my darling son or daughter). I know for many, Christmas is a highly pressurised time.

Parents not only have to cope with an increased workload as the year comes to an end, but also the pressure of buying the biggest, best and latest toys which, let's face facts here, they don't even get to take the credit for.Anyone who works in a shop, or deals with the lovely general public, will undoubtedly be so rushed off their feet in the coming weeks that finding the time to hit the town, to make lists and organise a day of sheer hedonism for themselves and those close to them will become their very Christmas miracle.My calmness surrounding the festive season could be because I'm now officially very pregnant and people will be understanding if I don't go the whole hog this year. People of course keep telling me to ""keep my money for the baby,"" which eases the financial pressure just a little. I have also been able to use my increasing size to justify shopping for almost everything from the comfort of my home computer, and only venturing into the town to look at the lights.

I have not yet been caught up in the trauma of a mile long queue to pay for a pair of socks, or fought with an old lady over the last Fimble in the toy shop. I can pick and choose when to wander into the town, and kind hearted people take look at my bulging tummy and allow me ahead of them in the queue. (No doubt, however, this spirit of good will to all men and expectant women will descend into a ""everyone for themselves"" mentality the closer we get to the big day).For the first time in years I feel as though I can relax and just enjoy the music, the sights, the sounds and feelings of Christmas without getting caught up in the manic rush that can descend on us all.Of course we all know Christmas has become too commercialised, and that we seem to have forgotten that it is, in fact, a religious occasion. We are all aware that the majority of children are more excited about the arrival of Santa Claus than the birthday of the baby Jesus.

We all know that we spend too much money, and many of us count the cost as our January pay cheques are spoken for even before they arrive. And there are many out there who would pour scorn on the madness that descends once a year across the length and breadth of the city.But, Scrooge tendencies aside, we should just try to enjoy the celebration that is the festive season, when we can all act like children again if only for a few days.