The approach of yet another holiday seems to be shining a bright light on our childless condition once again. It’s difficult enough as an infertile woman to navigate a world filled with daily “baby bombs” (shower invitations, adorable toddlers at the grocery store, birth announcements, pregnant women everywhere), but for me the most difficult times are when holidays roll around. I guess it’s because I am like a little kid myself about holidays. Love ‘em! Love everything about them. Love to decorate, love to have people over, love to cook seasonal foods, love to watch holiday movies.
Tomorrow is, of course, Easter. We’re having our parents and some dear friends over for lunch. I’ve had a great time devising a menu and tastefully decorating our home. (Some might say that it looks like the Easter Bunny threw up all over our den. I disagree.) It will be a lovely day, I’m sure. But do you know what I really wish was happening here tomorrow?
O and I would wake up early, complaining about how darned COLD it is as we put on our coats and rushed out to hide eggs before our child woke up. We have acres and acres to work with, so we’d spread eggs far and wide, tucking them under bushes and in the crevices of trees.
Our child would stumble into the kitchen rubbing her eyes and stop dead in her tracks as she saw the basket the Easter Bunny left for her. After a quick breakfast, we’d scamper to get ready for church, and I’d put her in one of those deliciously frilly little dresses that made me feel ever so fancy when I was a little girl. And though I vowed never to do it to my child, I’d probably throw in one of those pairs of white gloves that my mom used to torture me with on Easter.
Off to church we’d go and when we got home, our families would be arriving to watch the big Easter egg hunt. I would take a million pictures. O would hold our child’s hand as she wandered around the yard gathering up her treasures (because when you’re a kid, bright plastic eggs are TREASURES!). Afterwards, we’d all sit down to eat, talking and laughing about Easters past, unable to imagine what we did before our child came along.
I know that reality would probably instead involve freezing to death, tossing a few eggs around the backyard because we were running late, unfortunate stains on frilly little dresses, resounding screams as we tried to put on and keep on the white gloves, and boredom after finding the first three eggs. But isn’t it a NICE daydream?
Oh well. I guess I’ll take a Chicago Cubs attitude about the whole thing . . . maybe next year. Until then, I’m going to have a wonderful Easter with the people I love most in the world and I wish the same for you.
And that little daydream of mine? I wish that for you too.
