This is the face of Christmas morning.
The poor thing spent most of Christmas Eve sacked out on the couch, feverish, coughing, and generally miserable.
She finally fell asleep, the combo of not being able to breathe and the fear of some strange man coming into our apartment in the dead of night largely responsible for her resistance. By the way, have you really listened to the lyrics of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town"? Try singing "he knows if you are sleeping, he knows when you're awake" to a three year old who spends each night cataloging the shadows on the wall and watch what happens when people ask her if she's excited about Santa.
It's a Christmas miracle she actually slept in her own bed.
She was still so feverish and spent that she didn't even want to open her presents, instead pointing the one she wanted and having us do the work for her. But when she saw all that Santa had brought - the books, the still in the vault Disney movies, the tinkerbell magic wand that deserves its own post, she slowly came around. Because she was still so sick, we didn't want to subject the extended family to her viral awesomeness at my parents' house, and we settled in for a long winter's leftovers.
That quickly changed after we shared a lousy frozen mini pizza for Christmas lunch. We packed up the kid and drove out to mom and dad's for turkey and sweet potato casserole and a blessed change of scenery. Her cousins were already working on their own viral funpack, so I didn't feel so bad.
A very special thank you to Santa for bringing Harlow her new favorite pink loungy chair and the awesome puppet theater.