I don't remember my first Christmas as a married man, but I do remember my first Christmas with our first child. We lived in an apartment, on the first floor. There was an apartment above us and below in an old colonial style house across from the grocery store. Whatever food the people cooked upstairs, the smell drifted down into my clothes closet under the stairs, which was not great, but they did play a lot of good music. They particularly liked the Charlie Brown Christmas album around the holidays, and I am pretty sure Ashton listened to that from before birth wafting down the stairs. She still loves that album, and she and her sister insist that we listen to it every time we put the tree up, even after all these years.
That first Christmas there, our oldest was only a little less than two weeks old, tiny and helpless, laying in the bassinet we moved into the living room. We had a tree that I think my parents gave us with a few meager presents, most if not all toys and clothes for the baby. I was not making much, and Sherry was not working at all at that time. I was working nights at the time, but I actually got Christmas Eve night off. We had gotten back from my parent's house and were just sitting in the dark with a few candles lit. Sherry was holding the baby and Ashton was asleep. The stereo was tuned into a station playing Christmas carols and 'Silent Night' was being sung quietly in the background. We decided to unwrap the gifts while the baby was quiet, and as each one was opened, Sherry showed me each little blanket or toy that she had managed to buy. I think we only got each other one little thing, and I had went to the store where a friend worked and bought a small wooden cat decoration that sat on the edge of a table or window ledge. I think that was the last gift my wife opened, and she sat it on the edge of the table and admired it. We had so little, yet we had so much. A tiny apartment, one car, not enough of anything, but more than enough love.
