She requests carols four or five times a day (“Jingle Bells” and “Frosty” are her favorites, though she also likes “Santa Baby”). She plays with the stockings every time she climbs up the stairs (we hang them there because we use our fireplace a ton). Naturally, she’s also obsessed with the tree, touching (and sometimes kissing) low-hanging ornaments every time she passes by.

Perhaps the pinnacle of her Xmas obsession came this afternoon, when, during a walk around town, she randomly shouted, “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas” to a bunch of strangers who were walking by.

Indeed, the kid has been bitten by the Christmas spirit. And it kind of rules.

Powergirl is the inspiration for all of this, really. I was raised Jewish and gave up on religion all together in college. At this point in my life, I’m nothing more than a cheerleader, support staff for my wife. Considering how happy all of the songs and candles and pine needles and sparkly stuff make both of my girls, I’d say that job is the best gig that I’ll get all month.

Imagine our surprise, then, when she couldn’t get to sleep Christmas Eve (at my inlaws’ house), and proceeded to cry the ENTIRE night.

This is no exaggeration. Poor L cried just about incessantly from 1 to 7 a.m. It was ugly. It was sleepless. And for me, especially after a few glasses of wine and an ill-advised NyQuil (I’ve got this lingering cold, a Christmas ritual for my sinuses), it was arguably one of the most brutal nights of my life.

A sleepless night on Christmas Eve made for a pretty forgettable Christmas. Between the fog of drugs and the haze of no sleep, I pretty much doubled as Ebenezer Scrooge all day.

(You can only imagine how well that went over with Powergirl, who managed to get a tad more sleep than I.)

Sure, it was a (short-lived) moment of joy to see L in her first-ever Christmas dress. And yes, as always, it was fun to be in the company of family on the big day. Despite all of this, I’m sorry to report that pretty much the only thing I wanted all day was a warm, quiet bed.

The lesson here: just when you think you’ve got the hang of this whole parenthood thing, these little buggers throw you for a loop. Ultimately (as in, last night), we discovered that L was crying because she a) was cold and b) has become too big for her travel crib. These were costly lessons. Next Christmas, we’ll be ready for everything.

She stares up at them, mouth slightly open, and watches in amazement as branches and leaves sway in the wind. Occasionally, joy overcomes her, and she lets out a guttural squeal. Other times, she’ll look up at a tree and giggle, glancing back at me as if to say, “Dad, do you see it?”

Naturally, then, L was in her glory tonight when Powergirl and I put up our first Christmas tree as parents. We plopped the baby in her portable crib, lugged the seven-foot noble fir in from the garage and plopped it on the stand. As I screwed it in, L looked on curiously, kicking her feet in approval.

Every now and again, she offered an expression that was somewhere between ecstasy and confusion. She also demanded that we pick her up so she could touch the needles herself.

Her reaction to the tree made it feel new again for me as well.

Every year, the ritual of putting up the tree (we put it up, give it a night to open, then decorate it the following night) has been more of a chore than fun. Powergirl and I usually bicker about whether the tree is straight. And I have an indomitable obsessive-compulsive disorder about vacuuming needles immediately (so we don’t track them around the house).

Tonight, however, my little girl reminded me of just how novel the whole thing really is. A tree! In our house! How crazy! And neat!

Watching her reactions to the tree made everything else seem relatively inconsequential. With a few simple gestures, she transported me back to my first Christmas as a kid, and helped me relive the wonder of the holiday all over again.

Of all the benefits of fatherhood, this notion of seeing everyday experiences through my daughter’s eyes is perhaps my favorite. She makes it all new again. She eliminates monotony. In short, she forces me to appreciate life the way it’s meant to be appreciated. I hope all of you parents are as lucky.