We have a lizard.

He’s really a gecko.

His name is Spotty and Santa brought him to Audrey on Christmas day.

And if I am being honest we don’t know whether it’s a he or she, that won’t reveal itself until later down the road when Spotty gets older. But he feels like a he so we are referring to him as such.

We’ve been worried about our little gecko for some time now. He wasn’t eating those live crickets that Audrey has lovingly been covering in calcium powder and throwing into his home.

I was worried that maybe Santa didn’t realize he brought us a sick little gecko and in my head began planning how I would let Audrey know of his passing.

Then last Tuesday night happened.

It was during our evening floury of activity, half-naked children running in and out of bathrooms preparing for nightly baths; me attempting to find missing socks and unload the dishwasher; Audrey trying hard to get Spotty to eat.

Audrey’s scream pierced through the chaos.

“He’s eating guys, he’s eating. It was the coolest thing like ever!!!”

The four of us gathered round his little tank to watch him lick his lips, the ultimate sign of satisfaction.

We were mesmerized.

“Aud let’s feed him another” I suggested.

She obliged and we held our breath watching to see if Spotty would take another treat.

He stalked his prey and in a matter of seconds pounced and another of our cricket friends bit the dust.

Nose pressed against glass we all squealed with delight, in awe of life unfolding in front of us.

These are the moments you cannot fathom will delight you as a parent when you plan to become one.

Sheer joy derived from watching a gecko eat a cricket.

I am happy to report Spotty continues to eat very well…