Christmas brings out the best and the worst in me. It’s a chance to give in to my inclination to feed all my nearest and dearest at once, and also to show off a bit. I love the prep, from the shopping lists to the veg peeling, and I love the wind-down, from the leftovers to the decimated tins of chocolates. Am I controlling about Christmas? Yes, probably. But it all comes from a place of overexcitement.
This year, however, Christmas looks a little different. On Christmas Day itself, I am likely to be 40 weeks pregnant with my first baby. This means that not only am I not masterminding Christmas dinner and all the rigmarole that comes with it, but neither will I be able to do a lot of the things that have always made Christmas for me. I won’t be driving home to Newcastle, or partaking in our annual tradition of drinking the local pub dry on Boxing Day.
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