Notes:

Written for prompts provided by doctorroseprompts over on Tumblr for their 31 Days of Ficmas celebration. I've played with the order of the prompts a bit, but I intend to use them all.

This will be a huge challenge for me. For those of you who know me well, you'll know I am not a fast writer. To post one of these every day for 31 days will be pushing me well and truly to my limits. They may not all get posted on time, but they will get posted. Promise.

My eternal thanks to my brilliant betas Rose_Nebula and mrsbertucci for picking up on the things I miss and for chivvying me along. ((((hugs))))

The first prompt is Hope. Please enjoy.

December 24th, 2012

Dear Father Christmas,

Blimey! It's been a while. I don't think I've written to you since… well since Jimmy. That bloody wanker sucked the magic out of everything. He sucked the magic right out of my life. But that's all right. The Doctor gave me back the magic and then some.

Oh my God! I just realized! Maybe you don't even know who I am. Is Father Christmas even the same bloke in all universes? Are you a transdimensional entity? I reckon not, or else transdimensional travel would be possible, and we know for a fact it's not, not any more.

I know I'm just being stupid. Transdimensional capabilities or not, you're obviously just a fictional character, a product of children's imaginations and a bloated, economy-driven society. Still, I bet the Doctor would disagree. He'd probably tell me Santa is an actual being from some planet with an unpronounceable name. Complete with elves too! I wager he'd say "lots of planets have a North Pole". But most of his knowledge is based on the Prime Universe… for now. So even if you are real there, you may not be the same in this universe, or you may not exist at all.

Don't suppose it matters anyway, yeah? It was just always nice to chat with you like this every year, so I guess I'll start again. I missed this. Back in the Prime Universe, Mum got me started writing to you every Christmas Eve, even when I was just a baby. Those first notes were just a few pencil scratches. Complete rubbish. She loved them, anyway. She kept them safe for years, would bring them out every Christmas and show them around along with the naked baby photos, (especially if I had been a cow to her or we'd had a row.) But she had to leave them all behind in the Prime Universe with so much else from our lives. Embarrassing as they were, it would've been nice to be able to, well… Enough of that!

By the time I was four, I knew all my letters. I was so determined to do it myself, write my own Christmas wish list. Mostly it was just all the things I wanted for Christmas. But I always minded my manners. I said please and thank-you. I always asked after Mrs. Claus and the reindeer. And, I hope I was never greedy. Sorry if I was, even if you aren't actually the right Father Christmas to apologize to.

As I got older, I realized you weren't real (sorry!) and my letters to you became more of a diary. You know… private stuff I'd write every year, yeah. It was nice to be able to say things, to tell someone things I couldn't say to anyone else. Course, I stopped for a while, because Jimmy… I'd never want him to find those letters and have that to hold over me. Anyway, it's not like I'd ever had the chance to write them, working two, sometimes three jobs, just to keep that knob in fags and drink. And after a while, I just got out of the habit, and life took some good turns… and some bad turns. Then some really bad turns.

But now, life is completely brilliant! I have my Doctor by my side... forever! I have my own baby girl. (Hope's her name and she'll be writing you a note too this year!) And, to top it off, I'm actually dictating these letters now. Voice recognition software! The Doctor jiggery-pokeried it so when it's printed it uses my handwriting as the font.

I'm rambling, aren't I? Guess I'm just a bit nervous (and excited) about doing this again and getting Hope started too.

I think you'll like Hope. But I'm warning you, I don't think she's quite like other babies. Well, I know she isn't. She's her father's daughter, that's for sure. Nine months old, and she's already talking up a storm. Full sentences! Just watch, she'll be able to use this voice recognition software… Course, I don't know what her handwriting font will look like, 'cause she's pretty much like a normal baby in her gross and fine motor development, so no handwriting just yet. Her verbal and cognitive development, though… the doctors at Torchwood say it's off the charts.

It scares me if I'm being honest. I don't know how I can ever be a mum to her… a proper mum. Thank God I have the Doctor by my side to keep her entertained, because she takes in absolutely everything and it's never enough. But he "gets" her. He knows how to keep her happy. We take her on adventures (safe ones, don't worry!) all through space and time. And we explore. Oh, we explore so much!

But it's so different from the way I explored as a kid, ya know? Here's an example. We go to a beach, yeah, with rock pools and lovely sand too, and the water is so warm and wavy. Now me, as a kid, I'd splash in the waves and muck about in the sand with my pail and spade. And at the rock pool, I'd poke at a few beasties and squeal about them. It was all just in fun. But with Hope, everything is so intense. She investigates everything, and her Daddy is right there with her, coaxing her to connect the dots herself, filling in the bits she's missed. The starfish (sorry, sea star − I must use proper terminology!) was carefully examined, all its little bits explored and then thoroughly researched back at the TARDIS, and not just the names of the bits, but the hows and whys of them too.

And then the Doctor reads to her… not baby books, but Harry Potter and Narnia and Oliver Twist. She's even sounding out some parts herself. He'll break out the sciencey stuff, the physics and chemistry and biology, and the maths too, when it has something to do with what happened on our adventure that day. And she hangs on every word. I don't know if she understands everything he reads her, but she sure understands a lot of it.

She's just so tiny, just an infant, but her mind is so big. Definitely bigger on the inside, our child is! I love her like I never thought I could love anyone, but I'm so frightened that… that… well, that she won't love me, a stupid ape. How can I be a proper mum to her when she already knows more about bloody sea stars than I ever will?

Then there are those times when I hold her in my arms and feed her at my breast, when I snuggle her to sleep, and I breathe in her sweet baby smell. It's almost normal. Sometimes I can even get her giggling, completely out of control, over the most simple things, like peek-a-boo. And when she bumps her head, her arms immediately come up for me to hold her and kiss it better. Me! That makes me feel like a proper mum.

You should have seen her when we were putting up the Christmas tree this afternoon. Her fat little fingers were grabbing for all those bright shiny baubles, and her eyes were so wide and she didn't know where to look first because it was all so pretty. And then Daddy came prancing down the stairs from the console room wearing a big red light-up nose and huge felt antlers on his head, and we were all in hysterics. I really felt like part of the family, and I kind of realized I don't always feel that way.

It's made me think, though, going forward, I really need to make a place for her in my life as she grows. I always used to love to paint and draw. Once upon a time, I was even going to go for my A-levels in art. Before Jimmy. I'd like to take that up again, and I could teach her too, eventually, when she can actually hold a brush. Maybe we could do that together. And singing and dancing, not to mention gymnastics when she's old enough.

Blimey! This has been one weird Christmas letter, yeah? And I haven't even asked for any presents. I honestly just want my family to be healthy and happy, and I want to be able to be a proper mum to Hope. Not really stuff you can just hide under the tree.

Oh! Here comes Hopie now, in her Daddy's arms, all fresh from her bath. Hey there, baby girl! Are you ready to write your letter to Father Christmas? C'mere, sit on Mummy's lap and maybe Daddy will make us a cuppa. (Thanks, love!) And, my darling girl, as soon as you're finished with your letter, we better head right over to see Gran and Grandad and Uncle Tony. There'll be hell to pay if we're late! (I hear you moaning, Doctor!)

Okay, Father Christmas, here's me, signing off for this year. Lots of love to Mrs. Claus and all the reindeer and elves too! Thanks for listening to me whinge. It really helped to get it off my chest. I know, I know! I need to tell the Doctor how I've been feeling, but I don't want him going and feeling guilty just because he's being a bloody amazing dad. But I'll talk to him; I promise.

Happy Christmas!

love, Rose