what to send, and to whom
the things worth sending this December, composed to order and wrapped the way we wrap everything. sorted not by price or by category, but by the person you are thinking of.
for the new mother
the baby will be given everything. this is the section for the person who thought to send something for her. body oil and a balm for skin that has been through a year of it. hand cream that lives by the sink. the good soap and oil in a case small enough for a bag. a throw for the chair she will spend this winter in, and it is not a baby blanket. tea for the hour when nobody else is awake. pajamas worth changing into, and a candle for the room. and one book for the nightstand, by someone who had been where she is and took notes.
for the one who asks for nothing
take her at her word, and send something that asks nothing back. this is the section for her taste rather than her recovery. a black leather tote for the first day she goes somewhere that is not the pediatrician. a hairbrush and a small round mirror, both cut to look like stone. a silk scarf with new york drawn across it. a bar of soap cast by hand and shaped like an object. incense, and two candles she did not choose and will light anyway. and a wool blanket for the sofa, big enough for two, with snoopy woven the whole way across it.
for the baby, on a first christmas
there will be one photograph from this year that gets framed, and the baby will not remember any of it. so the gift is really for the parents, and for the shelf. a gingerbread and a santa, knit in peru by the same hands, one of which ends up in the photograph. a taxi in a hat, hand knit, that will outlast the tree. a wool blanket in pink and cherry stripes, which reads like christmas without ever saying so and stays out through february. a hooded romper in heathered brown, with a tail that snaps off for the wash. and one book, read aloud to someone who will not follow a word of it and will want it again next December. things that are kept, not things that are outgrown.
for the one who is no longer the baby
the older brother or sister, who has been sharing everything since the summer. an advent calendar in liberty print is twenty-four mornings that are entirely hers. crayons in the same print are the afternoons. a wooden bakery with an oven and a paddle. a set of beech blocks with acrylic cubes that sit in the window frames and catch the light. a bear in a liberty dress, made of wool on a farm, big enough to be a person. an art book that takes her seriously, and one that pops up in her hands. a pullover with crossed skis on the chest, which comes small enough for the baby too, if you want them matching. a metal car she sits in and pushes along with her feet, which will live in the hallway and be worth the space. small, and about no one but her, which this December is the point.
it arrives as one gift
one box, wrapped in tissue, with a single card on top. no prices, no invoice. the same way an edit arrives, composed by you instead of by us. anything going to a second address is best sent as a separate order.
ordered by the twelfth of December, it leaves in time. after that, write to us and we will tell you what can still arrive by the twenty-fifth.