Deal With It

It's Christmas time. Family time. A little wistful for me (I've got to be honest), yet certainly full of quiet, contemplative moments where I am thankful for the amazing blessings I have. Things could always be worse, and I'm grateful they're not.

Driving home from the store one evening last week, we were commenting on Christmas decorations in the neighborhoods through which we passed. My son was in a particularly high mood. He felt magnanimous, and declared there were only two things he wanted for Christmas.

Me: What?
Him: I want the Lego Bionicle Fighter Jet. {We knew this one.}
Me: Okay, and what's the other thing you want for Christmas?
Him: I want a baby brother or a baby sister.

Twinge. Tight smile. "Keep praying for that," my husband commented. No matter how far away I think I am from it, I guess there will always be a little pain ready to pierce my heart at the mention of having children. Right now, it's also bittersweet; I know my son would make a great older brother. It's not terribly easy to hear a suggestion from him that I've been thinking about for the last six years.

An ironic part of the conversation sent my tight smile into a wry one when I reiterated how hard it is for some women to get pregnant and have kids.

Him: I just don't understand.
Me: You mean, you're confused about all the medical woman stuff?
Him: Yeah, pretty much.
Me: You're a boy, alright.

I didn't take offense. I dropped it. He doesn't understand or deal with infertility, although he does pick up on it. He empathizes as much as he can. But I do deal with it... for both of us.

I'm fervently glad it's a season of hope.