Why I won’t be ‘doing’ Christmas this year – even with my baby

I’m done – or trying to be – with the guilt that says the size of my baby’s present pile is a clear indicator of my success or failure as a mother

In the words of immortal nineties girl band Hepburn: “I quit, I quit”.

I don’t think I can do Christmas this year. I don’t think I want to. I mean, I’m not done with family, or the ritual of a festival focused on light in the darkest season, or even the cliches of too much cheese and chocolate.

But I am done – or trying to be – with doing Christmas the way every tv ad, billboard, radio jingle and magazine double page spread has been telling me I should since basically August.

I’m done, specifically, with panic buying extra tat from the last high street shop open to “prove” how much I love my baby. I’m done with the expectation that the best way to deliver him some December magic is via the medium of stuff.

I’m done – or trying to be – with the guilt that says the size of his present pile is a clear indicator of my success or failure as a mother – or that the entirety of December should be a gift fest from advent calendars and Christmas Eve boxes to the day itself.

Here is a list of what my one-and-a-bit-year-old actually wants for Christmas: my mobile phone; the dog’s kibble; permission to get into the dishwasher; an assortment of cardboard boxes; the car keys; actual knives.

He definitely doesn’t want and has very little interest in a pile of actual, shop-bought presents – he has warm clothes and enough to eat, plenty of love and attention and already more toys than we can sensibly store (despite mean Mummy not letting him play with the knives).

And yet the guilt persists. The battering ram of consumerism continues to live rent free (ironic really – maybe I should be charging) in my head, making me feel like a bad parent as I look at the rather modest selection of gifts we’ve bought for him.

I’m cross about it too, because this idea that money translates into presents – or even love – is exhausting and demoralising. It can even be harmful. We’re lucky as a family to have our heads mostly above water in the current cost of living crisis, but I can see with woeful clarity how quickly Christmas might become ruinous.

I also know there’s a cost for children – our own and other people’s – when we equate presents with love and value at Christmas. How do you explain to a child why Santa has bought them a pair of socks when he bought their friend a Nintendo Switch? As harmless as Naughty and Nice Lists might seem, we’re only adding to this sense that how much stuff you get for Christmas has something to say about your overall worth.

I’m not, for the record, shaming parents who do buy piles of gifts – like this Mum sharing her own one-year-old’s presents. I feel a certain sense of solidarity – because we’re all trying to navigate these complex and shark infested waters (and truthfully I’ve probably also already bought too much, despite my protestations). But I do just want to tell myself – and any other parent who needs to hear it, especially those of us whose children are still far too little to care – that it’s okay to just... not.

It’s not just that the amount of money we are able to spend on our kids has nothing to do with how much we love them. It’s also that the amount of money we choose to spend on them is equally irrelevant.

Lest I sound too much like a modern-day Scrooge here, I should point out that I’m not anti-gifts in general. There’s an art to finding something someone might love; something that might bring them genuine joy.

But I am anti-this-weight of ridiculous expectation, wherein gifting becomes a drudge. A slog. A miserable duty in which the sheer amount of presents a child might receive makes it hard for them to be anything beyond a series of tiny, fleeting highs – diminishing returns with each fresh unwrap. I’m against the cynicism of marketing directors who understand that guilt is a weaponisable emotion when it comes to parenting. I’m against the bin bags full of pointless packaging.

Children need love and attention and connection – they don’t need their parents to wreck themselves emotionally or financially trying to buy the latest must-have talking cat (or insert toy of your choice here). They don’t need to grow up with the impression that the intangible magic most of us want to create for our kids can be itemised, and tallied, and given a price tag.

So while I still won’t be letting my own baby have the knives – for obvious reasons – I am doing my best to go big on cardboard boxes, and stay small on actual presents this year.

I might even let him have a brief climb into the dishwasher…