Page 42 of In Stockings
“It doesn’t matter, sweetheart,” I say, switching on the bedside lamp and ignoring Samson and Archie's groans. “Even beanie’s too excited to sleep.” I beckon Lyra over, and she climbs up onto the bed along with her little brother. “Look!” I point to the rippling surface of my belly. “He’s wriggling.”
“Baby,” Betty declares, sucking on her thumb.
“Yes, mummy has a baby in her tummy, doesn’t she?” Samson says, kissing her temple.
“Wanna feel?” I ask Lyra.
She dazzles me with one of her wide grins, and I take her hand, laying her palm over the peak of my stomach.
She giggles as the baby kicks against her hand. “He’s kicking me.”
“I think he’s going to be another handful,” I mutter.
“That’s the way we like them,” Archie says with Ted balanced in his lap.
“Can we open presents?” my little boy asks, sinking back against his Daddy’s chest with a yawn.
“It’s too early,” Samson moans.
“You’re being a grinch, Pops,” Lyra tells him sternly.
“He is. And as punishment, he is the one who has to go downstairs and collect the stockings.”
“I want to come,” Ted says.
“OK, little man, you go help Pops.”
Pops throws me a dirty look that tells me he’d quite like to spank my arse for kicking him out of bed this early. If he’s lucky, maybe that’ll be his Christmas treat.
Lyra yawns as we wait for them to return and Betty starts to sing a song she learned at nursery.
Her little eyes pop wide when Samson and Ted walk in, their arms full of heavy stockings.
“Pwesents?” she asks.
“Yes, darling,” I tell her. “Father Christmas left them for you last night.”
She holds out her hands and Samson drops her stocking in her lap, before handing out the others.
Craig gives me a knowing look as I dip my hand inside mine. “Maybe Mummy might want to open her presents later.”
I lift my eyebrow at him wondering what naughty gifts I’m going to find inside this year.
“Santa can get a little pervy at Christmas time,” he whispers in my ear as he pulls out a present from his own stocking.
He unwraps the sparkly paper as Samson and Archie do the same from their similarly-shaped gifts.
“Ears?” Archie says, holding a pair of pointed ears up to show the rest of the family.
“Elf ears,” I correct. “From TwinkleToes.”
I wink at my older daughter. I can’t believe how big she’s gotten these last few years. She giggles and scrabbles towards her Daddy, pinning the ears to the sides of his head.
I lie back against the pillows, stroking my hand across my belly and watching as my family destroys all the carefully wrapped gifts TwinkleToes spent hours wrapping last night.
I am one happy little elf.
The End