A different Christmas

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Sometimes, amid the hubbub and anxiety, we lose sight of what's important. It's Christmas, and we did it.

Seven long weeks ago, that wonderful and nerve-wracking Halloween, we set a modest goal to have Hope home by Christmas. We beat the pants off that deadline. Since then, it's been great, hard, scary and busy.

For a while there, schedules seemed to conspire against Christmas. We couldn't agree on the right photo for a card. Since Hope can't leave the house except for doctor's appointments and I don't get home until 7 or 8, neither Mo nor I had a spare minute to think about presents. A tree seemed like an afterthought. Months ago, in an uncustomary fit of charity, I took pity on a co-worker scheduled to work multiple holidays and agreed to work Christmas.

But we may just pull this thing off yet. We went into holiday overload this weekend, scrambling for a last-minute tree, mailing out cards by the dozen, finagling the perfect roast and snatching up toys for Hope. It's not as easy as it seems: What do you buy a 4 1/2 pound girl who already has two pairs of every premie outfit at Babies 'R Us?

Mo and I are forgoing presents this year. Being hopeless romantics, we decided our new garage door was our gift to each other. Plus, Mo already gave me a beautiful gift on Halloween. And I give Mo the gift of my awesomeness every day.

Usually on Christmas, we wake up, eat breakfast, open presents, then head over to the Feighans for more of the same. Things are all a bit different this year. Mo's father had knee-replacement surgery last week (Big Beef is doing fine), her sister, Molly, flies back to New York that morning, I have to work at 10 and we're all under quarantine.

So, as often is the case, things aren't exactly as we planned. But we'll adapt. It's what we do. And what's most important is sleeping peacefully, cooing away and oblivious to all this fuss. Hope's home. She's where she belongs. So yes, it already is a great Christmas.