Recently, I had a moment of realization. I paused to observe my children lounging on the couch, just being themselves, and it struck me: everyone is maturing. This is it—the final year I will have a “believer” in the house.
My youngest, still basking in the joy of childhood, embodies that innocent, hopeful belief in Santa Claus. I had overlooked the fact that this might be his last year of such untainted faith. His excitement is palpable as he races out of bed each morning to find his Elf (whom he wholeheartedly believes is real) and presents me with his carefully crafted letter to Santa, complete with a glittery envelope. Yet, I had been so consumed with my holiday to-do list that I had failed to notice he still holds onto that belief.
Having the last child can sometimes feel like a burden. By this point, as mothers, we tend to become a bit weary of holiday traditions. We’ve already celebrated all the baby’s first Christmases, taken countless photos on Santa’s lap, and eagerly awaited the delivery of Amazon packages filled with toys that we were excited to label “From Santa!” We’ve hosted cookie baking sessions, holiday pajama parties, and even sewn nativity costumes. We’ve shared special shopping trips with each child to pick out gifts for their siblings and bought matching pajamas for family photos. We’ve driven around admiring Christmas lights and created homemade countdown chains. We feel like we’ve done it all.
For the youngest, it’s more like, “Want to shop for Dad? Here’s my Amazon login. Need Christmas pajamas? There’s a box somewhere—good luck finding it. A photo with Santa? I could Photoshop you in. Gifts? Just use this gift card. Want to see the lights? We have one strand on a tree outside.”
This morning, while driving to school, I experienced a moment of clarity. My youngest, deep in thought, said, “You know, I believe in Santa, but I’m starting to doubt the reindeer because of the whole flying thing.” I froze, realizing that this marked the beginning of the end of his belief. I glanced in the rearview mirror, bracing myself for my older son’s response. I thought this was his moment to shatter his younger brother’s dreams. Instead, he turned to him and said, “Of course they can fly! Santa gives them magic reindeer food that allows them to soar.”
My youngest smiled and responded, “Oh yeah, you’re probably right.” I sighed in relief. So, while the holiday season can often feel overwhelming, I’m choosing to view it as an opportunity to create one last magical experience for my youngest child.
I’m determined to locate that elusive box of Christmas pajamas and make a vibrant countdown chain. We will bake cookies for Santa, discuss the wonders of magical reindeer food, and imagine sleighs large enough to carry gifts for every child in the world, all while envisioning elves busily crafting toys at the North Pole.
Twelve months from now, my youngest may have outgrown his belief. But for now, we will immerse ourselves in the enchantment of Santa. For now, we will believe.
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Summary
In this reflective piece, the author contemplates the fleeting nature of childhood belief as her youngest child embraces the magic of Santa for the last time. Despite the exhaustion of motherhood, she resolves to create a memorable holiday season filled with joy and wonder, cherishing the innocence that will soon be lost.