IT'S nearly here. Are you panicking yet? 

Everywhere I go I see them, illuminated in fairy lights and screaming at me, reminders of things to do and buy.

Nothing new about this, you say. It’s the same every year.

You only have to venture on to Buchanan Street to have bag-laden shoppers on an angry festive mission bash your shins with shoe boxes and rolls of wrapping paper.

But this year, for me, the pressure is higher than ever.

I am laying the foundations of childhood Christmas joy for a small boy.

My son is 18 months old and is just grasping the concept which will capture his imagination so, he will actually believe the ludicrous tale about the man who visits every child in the world in one night.

Last year, he just about obliged while we dressed him up as a reindeer and handed him over to bearded men for pictures.

This year is a different story.

He knows who Santa is, he’ll sing the last word in every line of Santa Claus Is Coming To Town and is well aware that some Christmas tree baubles are made of chocolate – he just hasn’t figured out how to hide the evidence.

He has also fallen in love with a singing, dancing, menacing, stuffed Christmas tree that plays so much we hear it when it is switched off.

But I am willing to admit I have perhaps gone too far.

Homemade hand print Christmas tree cards with glued-on pom-pom baubles. What could go wrong?

Try “hand printing” the glue instead of the paint then patting the cat.

In a bid to establish a new family tradition, I sourced some matching candy stripe pyjamas with “Mum Elf”, “Dad Elf” and “Little Elf” emblazoned on them.

My husband was mortified. He probably still is.

Festive outings have also been aplenty. Overcrowded, fraught, cold and usually falling in the middle of nap or lunch time.

But I think the chaos might be part of the excitement. 

I can’t remember a childhood Christmas of my own that wasn’t a bit of a guddle.

Every year, after the opening of presents, someone’s Christmas money was lost in the clean-up operation and accidentally binned. Every year.

And every year no one realised until after dinner, leaving someone to rummage through a bin full of leftovers to find the loot.

I also fondly recall eating my dinner on a fold-up chair and my mum finding Christmas presents in the middle of January she had stashed and forgotten about.

I guess festive mishaps are an already-well established family Christmas tradition.