Babies First Christmas Ornaments - Christmas Baby

I sat down to write an informative hub about Babies' First Christmas Ornaments and to organize a broad selection of the choices in 'Baby's First Christmas' ornaments available. Sometimes you sit down and start to write one thing, and somehow a whole other thing comes spilling forth.

The 76 Baby's 1st ornaments I have gathered together here I believe are nicely organized. I had done most of that before I started writing. The listings start off with 2010 dated Baby's First Christmas ornaments, followed by the more collectible options, but you will find plenty of affordable options sprinkled throughout if you scroll on through.

What I ended up writing however, is a story of memories, a story of my first born baby's first Christmas ornament. And perhaps, if you read between the lines, the story of a mother just arriving at the point of letting go.

If it's babies' First Christmas ornaments you seek, they are here. Browse through and do a bit of virtual shopping. If you'd like to hear a story about what motherhood will bring you, read on.

The Annual Christmas Ornament

This year on our summer vacation, I purchased our 'annual Christmas ornament'. I frequently do purchase our 'annual Christmas ornament' on summer vacation, as we regularly visit the Pigeon Forge Smoky Mountains area where The Christmas Place has one of their Christmas stores located. But this year the transaction was bittersweet.

This was the first summer we went on our family vacation without our eldest, first-born and only son. He was working, and could not get time off. The whole trip it felt like something was missing. I kept double-checking my purse, my keys, my iPhone. Something, I knew, had been left behind.

It was my son.

A Generation Ago, In a Place Far, Far Away

I knew I was pregnant. My husband -boyfriend, that is- and I both knew it, but we weren't entirely sure if we were happy about it or not. We weren't really ready. Oh, we had been together for three years already, we were fully committed to each other, but that commitment consisted mostly of a mutual interest in partying and having fun.

We had recently returned from a jaunt off to upper state New York. Young and foolish, we had moved there on a whim. But after two months of a dead-end job sticking stickers on lighters in a factory, my boyfriend had seen enough of those wide open pastures and rolling hills. 

There was no way around it, the country was boring as hell, and despite our connections to the area we could see that there was no future for us in farmland. Unable to afford a trailer to bring everything we'd brought with us back home, we packed up just a single compact carload's worth. The vast majority of my belongings were left there in New York, never to be seen again.

Still, we packed up the car with little remorse. It was time to go home.

Bussing It In South Florida In the Time Before Babies

Home again was a bit tight. Gone was the apartment we'd left by the beach, and both of the good jobs we had both neglected to give much notice to before running off to New York. But we soon found a small efficiency apartment to share, and got new jobs. Unfortunately not quickly enough. The car was repossessed and we were left bussing it.

But we were bussing it in sunny south Florida, back where I had grown up at and where every street was straight and half of them led to the beach. If we got caught in an afternoon shower on occassion, coming home from work with paper bags full of groceries from the store, at least the rain was cool and gentle on our sun-warmed skin. And we did get caught quite frequently in South Florida's daily afternoon summer showers, which were always mercifully short, but uncannily timed. Crinkling our bags closed and grinning at each other stupidly we'd jump off the bus to run home together with our water-logged produce and ripping bags.

I was slowly rebuilding my life, and in no real rush. So I'd lost my entire record collection in New York, and my clown doll collection, school memories and favored books, half of my clothes, most of my youthful writings and so much of what had been a part of me was gone now, but I didn't mind. I hardly even noticed, except for when I wanted to play a record and realized it nor the stereo to play it on were there anymore.

It didn't bug me. I was young. I had my whole life ahead of me. All of that could be replaced with time.

Baby's Fairy-Tale Beginning

Well, thank goodness for MP3's. Of course I never did replace my record collection. Instead I got knocked up. "Well, I guess we'll have to get married then," said my husband. And a lovely court-house ceremony it was, too, peach paper-bell hanging from the foam-tiled ceiling, me in a purple dress trying to hide my baby bump.

My mother loaned me a silver and pearl ring, and someone gave us tickets to a 'Midnight Cruise'. That was our honeymoon. Four hours of open-sea gambling and slot machines, a dubious dinner and a few poor drinks. We didn't even consummate our new marriage that night. Didn't need to, I was already pregnant.

But it wasn't officially official until the doctor said it was. The quick wedding got me on my husband's insurance, and soon there I was, bussing off by myself to the doctor's office to hear the news of which I had no doubt.

The bus bringing me back home left me off at a K-Mart. If I waited a bit, my new husband's bus would drop him off on his way home from work, and we could walk the rest of the way together.

I didn't have any money, a couple of dollars and some change. But I went inside the store to pass the time anyway, and soon I found myself wandering around the baby section.

Baby's First Ornament

I'm sure I found lots that I wanted to buy, but as I said I had no money. I looked at the cribs, the colorful baby bedding and sweet baby clothes. I pondered the cloth diapers, the changing tables and rose a shocked eyebrow at the breast-pumps.

How were we ever going to be able to afford a thing? How were we ever going to be able to take care of a baby? I couldn't imagine, but a baby was coming and that I knew.

I decided I'd better get prepared. I made our first baby purchase that day. It was $1.99 -$2.11 with 6% tax, and an extremely minuscule down-payment on the outrageously expensive investment that would soon drop out from between my legs. It was also a white pair of knit baby-booties so utterly useless that I'm not even sure the little bank-buster ever wore them.

But I have cherished those little baby-booties ever since, and I hang them proudly in a front-place position on our Christmas tree every year. Sure, we did buy him his own more official 'Baby's First Christmas' ornament after he was born, and with our girls' 'Baby's First Christmas' ornaments it gets front billing on the tree, too.

But those $1.99 Baby Booties still have a special meaning in our lives. Even if it was, as some would say, no more than a symbol of our commitment to spend every last penny we had on our children.

The Hunt for the Annual Christmas Ornament

Now the first baby is all grown up. Graduated, responsibly holding down a job and going to college. And staying home during family vacation, working and feeding the animals while the rest of the family and I were off having fun.

Just doesn't seem right. Doesn't feel right.

I wandered around The Christmas Place in Pigeon Forge, TN with my two daughters in tow -one a teen now and the last baby already a tween. The playful, animated Christmas displays which had always caught and held their attention in the past were barely drawing glances from them this year. Even the hunt for the 'annual Christmas ornament' wasn't getting much enthusiasm, and my husband was of course off in the 'Husband's Room' watching TV with the other unthrilled husbands.

In previous years I'd never had trouble finding the yearly prize. The year we made our first Gingerbread House, I bought a Radko gingerbread house to commemorate the memory. The year we took our first family trip back to my husband's hometown of New Orleans, I bought ornaments that reflected the trip to add to our family tree, and the years my nephews and father died I quietly added an angel for each. The Annual Christmas Ornament was always just something I saw that just seemed so right for commemorating that year.

Baby's All-Grown-Up Christmas Ornament

And then it happened, just like that, just like it always did, but with a special poignancy this year. I was about to give up and leave with no special new ornament, I try not to spend too much time shopping on vacation, and the magic just wasn't happening for me here this year. Time to load back into the car and head for Tracks the go-karting place, another of our favored Pigeon Forge places.

But then I turned the corner and saw it, and everything fell into place. My son seemed to be standing by my side and the magic that is love, family and Christmas surrounded me fully once more. Graduation ornaments. I could see the goofy look on my son's face when he would first see it and I could hear him saying "Ahh" in his slightly mocking and carefree voice of the young.

No, he wouldn't really get it yet, but he would when he had a child of his own, when he had a life quickly passing away and precious, fleeting moments changing always into memories. Memories you try to hold onto, but who can gather every baby's giggle or child's ready smile, and every growing teenager's step up the ladder of self-realization?

We try to, though, us mothers. We hold in our hearts more awareness of our child's inner beauty and daily self-discovery than they do themselves, and hold it all inside, careful not to tamper too much, careful not to burden them with our own burden of constant worry and over-dependence, the knowledge that our lives are all wrapped up in these children whom we thrust upon a turbulent, ever-changing world.

I Bought Two Ornaments, One to Keep and One to Share

I bought two of the Graduation ornaments. One is a 2010 cap, the other a "Congratulations!" diploma. I will give him the scroll, his first memorial Christmas ornament, and I will keep the cap for our family tree. There are so many memories encompassed in that little cap, and so many trials and triumphs.

As his life goes on, and he builds his own overwhelming mine of memories, he will forget so much of what the last six years or so brought him, and much of it he never knew the significance of anyway. But I will remember.

Memories of My First Baby's Growing Up

The endless energy with which he threw himself at skateboarding, and the hum from his wheels, bumps and bangs from his landings reverberating through the house as he and his endless stream of friends practiced their jumps in our garage, and the stress his father underwent worrying someone's kid would get hurt on our property and sue us. His quick adaptation when we moved here in the first place and the way friends always flocked to him so easily. He doesn't even know the gift he has.

Every skinned elbow, knee, shoulder, back and stomach, and the constant need for peroxide, neosporin and band-aids. Finding the videos that revealed to us just how stupidly he was getting all those nasty scrapes.

No, in fact, Sweetness, you cannot olly off your whatever and back-kick up your ass off of the next-door neighbor's second story porch, and grind off the rails of our SUV on your way down, you dumb little shit. And quit having all of your friends jumping their boards over your baby sister lying in the driveway, too. And for goodness' sake, stop uploading it all to YouTube!

And the time he shot that kid in the face with the beebee gun, and lied to us about it! It hurt so much watching him pay the price for that one in severe and indefinite restriction and increased chores to keep his "hands busy". I don't believe he ever lied to us again however, or felt that there was any problem he could not comfortably bring to us. We all learned in that one, as was roundly acknowledged to all involved, and the gratitude of no greater harm occurring has been my constant companion since long before that incident.

His first girlfriend, what that pretty cheerleader ever saw in my lank, sweaty, greasy-haired 13-year-old son I'll never guess. His first heartache two years later at the hands of another beauty-queen. And his second, and third heart-aches in the years which followed, and oh how I saw those coming, oh how I watched with fear of his impending gloom and hope of his quick escape and recovery, and oh how I struggled to keep my mouth shut over those long drawn-out months of drama and prolonged misery. But oh how I rejoiced when his smile came freely again, but how it hurt to see the diminished free-spirit in his eyes, how it hurt to watch him learn humility and the limits of self-determination.

Decisions about college and costs and scholarships, I think he's come a long way. But then a couple of weeks ago he and one of his best buddies managed to get in a car accident. He wasn't driving, and no one was hurt, but I know those schmucks weren't paying as much attention as they should have been when that motorcycle sped into them, just two minutes after they left our house. Again that deep, deep gratitude that no greater harm was done.

It Was Just Yesterday...

All of this, and so, so much more, I hold in my heart, Birthday parties and bonfires, challenges and struggles, the happy and sadder days, holidays and everydays, I hold all those memories of him in my heart, not just for the last four, six or eight years, but all the way back through his childhood, his pre-school and toddler days, his very first baby days and the love his father and I shared since before he was born.

Most of these memories of him I cherish he never even knew were memories made, and much of what's left he'll forget. But I have to hold onto it, because he who was just a baby we could barely afford yesterday is now full-grown, and quite beyond being held onto himself.

And I swear to you, I promise you with all of my integrity and on my father's grave if you like, it was - just - Yesterday. Cherish every moment. As my smart-butt son likes to say to me when I get exasperated with the antics and noise level of he and his sisters and their friends - "You know you're gonna miss us when we're gone."

That's what he thinks. I plan on popping in on all of my grown children and their families quite regularly when I'm old, you know just to keep enjoying that thing we call life but later know to be ethereal fairydust. Memories.

It's not the ornaments that make our family tree, it's the memories. I have tons of ornaments, and I collect Shiny Brites, Felt Elves and other vintage Christmas ornaments. The ones that make the tree every year are the ones that are family memories.

 

 

Article Copyright 2010 Anesidora and not to be copied or reprinted without author permission.

Additional photos courtesy of iRobot via the Fair Use law.

Opinions expressed herein are based on personal experience and thorough research. Author is not affiliated with any of the manufacturers which may be mentioned herein.

 

 

 

 

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Comments 3 comments

LeanMan profile image

LeanMan 6 years ago from At the Gemba

Not sure if to get the booties ornament or the Winnie the Pooh one..


humagaia profile image

humagaia 6 years ago from United Kingdom

I sat down to write a short comment in praise of the comprehensive list of babies ornaments, but then the writing bug hit and I could not stop. There are so many choices, so many colours, so many..........Where do you get the time to research all this and present it for our delectation? It must take hours of painstaking collation and dissemination to craft such a hub as this. Many will find inspiration, but I hope that it is those that have the need to click that visit for you surely should be rewarded for your efforts.

I have deleted the rest of my comments as I thought it must be getting boring!


Zahra 21 months ago

Katie - I remember your group of AP Art seuttnds, you were all one year ahead of me and I had heard of all the horror stories that went along with that room and Mr. P All I could think was, Oh crap, that's gonna be me next year. I wonder how many times he's gonna try and make me cry over a piece. Then I was crushed when I fould out he wouldn't be my teacher. Though I did not mind having Mrs. Adams for a third year what-so-ever. I think what made my senior year so hard was watching Mrs. Adams trying to hold it together, trying to be strong, she lost her buddy, her partner in crime, someone I'm sure she saw as a friend and as a son. My heart broke a million times over for her because she meant so much to me and was my inspiration, my strong mentor. I never though I'd catch her crying.. but I did and I cried a lot that night because I knew what those tears were for. It was strange senior year not to have a group of girls giggling infront of the art room peeking into Mr. P.'s room (which I will NEVER admit to doing *cough*). I never had him for a teacher, but he impacted my life through those he did teach.

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