A baby looking at a Christmas tree in a shopping mall in Shanghai, China, 25 December 2020. Photograph: Alex Plavevski/EPA
This mad, chaotic singular year, I have felt the meaning of Christmas more than perhaps any other. I am the very essence of joy to the world, peace on earth, good tidings etc, etc. I haven’t even touched my misanthropic Merry Fucking Christmas Spotify playlist, because I don’t wish I had a river I could skate away on. I’m happy right here, with my husband and my baby, and though I may roll my eyes during lullaby time when I get to lines such as “holy infant so tender and mild” and “the little Lord Jesus no crying he makes” it is only momentary. This year, I have had a great gift bestowed upon me, the gift of a child, and it has changed everything….