Though not nearly as quiet as it would have been, say, last year. Or any year other than this one. Because on previous new year's days I'd be sleeping right now. Snuggled under a warm blanket, nursing a hangover and looking forward to a lazy day of junk food and movies.
This year I was roused at 8 a.m. after a brief four hours of sleep by the peepish coos and chit chat of my baby chicken in the next room. And that sound! Instead of burying my head under the pillows and throwing my slippers at the door, I got up out of bed and eagerly went to her. The fresh-faced smile and tight clingy grasp of our morning hug was the better than an Alka Seltzer and an Advil.
And now -- although she had a full twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep and restful day yesterday that did not begin with Caesars for breakfast and end at 4 a.m. with pot-infused truffles -- my little one seems more hung over than I am. Her uncharacteristic crankiness might be preventing me from writing the witty 2008 wrap-up that I'd hope to get down, but it is in its own way a gift, allowing me instead to put her down early for her morning nap and crawl back into bed myself.
And that in itself is symbolic of the kind of year it's been. A huge, all-encompassing, life-altering, doozy of a year where every challenge, every long and sleepless night, every meltdown, every labour pain, every tear, every tooth, every poop-smeared minute was, in fact, a beautiful gift just as long as I looked at it the right way.
Happy New Year to each and all. May you find as much love in life's grumpiest moments as I have learned to find during this last, most incredible, year.