Maybe it's because the little man didn't get the memo that he was supposed to sleep in. Sleep deprivation does tend to hang a cloud over any occasion. (By sleep deprivation, I mean mine. Not his.) Or maybe it's because I underestimated the number of diapers the punk would go through, especially if the snowstorm forced us to stay the night in Salt Lake, and was therefore preoccupied with thoughts about my child's excrement instead of letting myself relax and enjoy the frivolity of the holiday. (We didn't have to spend the night, but it did take us 90 minutes to get home instead of 45.) But whatever the reason, I have a feeling Christmas - and other holidays, vacations, and friendly gatherings - will never be the same again. I am now a parent, and therefore, a responsible party. I no longer get to stuff my face and play with my siblings (and sibs-in-law) without wondering if my little dude is hungry, messy, cold, or safe from the curious dog.
Interesting how life changes in an instant. Before getting married, I vowed to never become a boring fuddy-duddy who goes to bed early - or worse - stays in on the weekends! And before having a child, I wondered why parents tend to plan their entire lives around their kids. As in, "We had better take off. Junior absolutely must take his afternoon nap at three o'clock sharp." Aren't the parents in charge? The answer is no. The parents are not in charge. Parents exist only to serve their children. To make sure they are warm, safe, satiated, clean, and devoid of air in the digestive tract. And these things need the same amount of attention on Christmas as on any other day.
I guess it's time for me to grow up.