The ornament celebrated Baby’s First Christmas 23 years ago. An oversized baby crawls toward a Teddy Bear and a present and a freakishly tiny Santa peers from behind the Christmas tree.
The only flaw (besides the obvious one of proportion)? The baby is a cherubic blonde and my daughter was born with a full head of wild, wispy raven tresses.
No problem for my mother. She just pulled out her paint set and gave the baby in the ornament a dye job. Voila! Black hair!
The ornament used to be the last to be put on the tree, the one that always elicited chuckles and eyerolls because, when you examine it closely, the baby looks just a bit off in a Pebbles and Bam-Bam kind of way. Thanks, Mom, but kinda creepy.
But this year? Unpacking Baby’s First Christmas closed my throat with tears. Because this is THIS baby’s first Christmas since her mother died. And suddenly all I could see was the infinite care in every tiny black brush stroke.
Funny how such a cheap ornament can suddenly become the most precious I own. And the ornament? Pride of place right in the front of the tree. I guess even creepy, cheap holiday things can be burnished into treasure through love, right?