I’m huge into Christmas. Or was anyway, until I got to Canberra and realised that it’s a lot like Kuala Lumpur, in that most people gear up to leave the place and spend Christmas somewhere else. Christmas in Canberra is about as exciting as a new pair of socks.

So in the six years we’ve been married and in the five we’ve lived in our home, we’ve never decorated. We have a money tree from our wedding that’s looking rather ratty, but it serves as our gift tree – so Valentines’ Day presents, anniversaries, birthdays and yes, Christmas gifts get left under its scant branches. And because there’s really only two of us, we don’t need anything bigger really.

But this year, I’m looking around and picturing Blob (proper baby, with proportionate head-to-body ratio, looking devastatingly cute at 5.5 months) and I’m thinking already that we’re sloppy parents and should make more of an effort, dangnammit.

So is this the start of that proverbial nesting period that mothers go through? Perhaps.

Blob got his or her first Christmas present this week!

Olivia the Owl crinkles, jingles, squeaks, reflects, and looks gormless to boot.

Tony’s colleague Katie got Olly the Owl for Blob. Which just makes it all that much real-ler. It’s one thing to grow a small paunch and get those bellybelt things to expand the waistband of your work pants (bellybelt RAWKS). It’s quite something else when another member of society openly acknowledges Blob’s humanity.

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