So how was it for you?

It's 9.55pm on Christmas Eve. I'm surrounded by discarded Celebrations wrappers and toy boxes. Beside me sits a Ben 10 Annual and a Wall E remote control thingummy. My other half is watching Top Gear and deciding what to eat (the two servings of Christmas dinner not being enough...) and I'm trying not to sick up the one portion of Christmas dinner I managed.
The boy is asleep in our bed - utterly, utterly exhausted from a day of full on excitement, and I'm here - a little mixture of tired, happy and emotional.
So how was it for you?
Christmas started here early - very early. I got up at 5am to take my middle of the night anti-emetic (Such a fun part of my night-time routine) and was only just nodding back off when Joseph started his morning conversation.
It was 5.25am. There was NO WAY we were getting up at that time - Santa or no. I tried, in vain, to persuade him to go back to sleep and he did really, really try but by 6.30 he was almost crying with frustration.
"Mummy, there is just something in my head which won't let me go back to sleep," he said. "I'm just too excited."
So remembering that feeling well from my own childhood - a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away - I caved. The husband was dispatched downstairs to check if Santa had been and once it was ascertained that indeed he had, Joseph and I followed.
There is nothing as magical as seeing a child's face on Christmas morning - except knowing that they are grateful for all they have got.
"Mammy," he said, "I must have been a really, really good boy this year. Santa has brought me so much."

And you know, Santa hadn't really brought all that much but enough to make my son grin from ear to ear.
After the statutory 7am on Christmas morning eating of inappropriate confectionary (he had Haribo - or "hars bars" as he calls it) and the trashing of our living room, the husband took pity on my pale and sick looking self and allowed me back to bed while he and Joseph bonded over the boys' toys. (I'm crap with Lego. I shouldn't be allowed near it. I only make walls... nothing as fancy as trucks and fire stations).
So two hours later I got up again and we feasted on bacon sandwiches while I played a mean game of Thomas the Tank Engine on the V-Smile.
It was a shower and an application of make up (something I've not done in a long, long time (make up that is, not shower. I do shower regularly)) later we went to my mum's where she was cooking dinner and we would have the family exchange of presents.
And the boy would go into orbit with excitement at the array of gifts he received. The new baby also received some gorgeous bits and pieces.
Dinner (vay lovely) later and a small glass of wine (my first in six months) I felt nicely chilled out and exceptionally fat.
The boy however, having been awake for 13 straight hours, was starting that glazed, manic, huffy thing that only over tired four year olds can pull off. I had planned on staying in my parents a little longer but I know the signs of imminent meltdown well enough to get out of there and quick. I knew when we got the child home, and he was allowed his nightly "nudey rudey" time (he is a exhibitionist at heart) he would be fine.
And he was. He cuddled on my knee, drinking a cup of milk and then we snuggled together til we went to sleep.
"I love you so much mammy," he told me. "I love you every day and not just Christmas. I'm so glad you are my mammy."

I'm exceptionally glad too.
Who could ask for a more meaningful Christmas message?