Holding you from beneath your arms, your mother picked you up — allowing you to hang an ornament on the Christmas tree. You giggled and grinned, feeling quite achieved. Abigail had promised to let you decorate the tree this year — and she was never a liar.

“It looks perfect, my love.” Your mother praised sweetly, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Gingerly grabbing another ornament, you raised your arms so she could pick you up once more.