PHEWee. It’s over. One by one we take the decorations down and pack them carefully into boxes that will be lifted into the loft not to be seen for the rest of the year. The cobwebs of Christmas are being swept away and the house will feel brighter, cleaner and airy again. Normal life can be resumed. Until next year, when the magic can begin all over again. What is left is the thought of the birthmother who must have missed her child at Christmas time. Our son’s birthfather is unknown, but I wonder whether he too didn’t think of his child (we know he knows there is a child). There are many times during the course of the year when I pause to think of his birthparents, not least round Christmas when the farewell meeting took place. Our joy is their loss. I wish I could tell them how much he enjoyed Christmas. How excited he got. How overtired he got. How happy he was. How many silly and highly flammable things he made in the run up for it. How many Christmas songs he can now sing. How cute he looks in wings and a halo. How many more cuddles, giggles and kisses we got as his parents, because we have been together as a family 24/7 for nearly two weeks. It has been special for all of us. Everyone has taken many photos. One day I hope he our son can share stories and memories from his childhood with his birthparents. The childhood they for many reasons couldn’t share with him.