As we passed the toy aisle at Walmart, I asked my daughter if she could have one thing for Christmas, what that one thing would be. I fully expected her to say that she wanted a doll or a new game. Or one of those Hatchimal things that are old news now. You know, the thing everyone wanted last year and no one’s kid actually plays with anymore? The thing everyone freaked out over that wasn’t available at any store, but luckily my kid didn’t even notice their existence until the craze was over…
You know, something tangible and materialistic like every other seven-year-old.
Instead, this is how our conversation went:
- Zoey: “Well… (insert long pause)… I think you know what I really want.”
- Me: “No, not really…” (I had a feeling I knew the direction this was about to go in, but honestly hoped I was wrong)
- Zoey: “If I could have just one thing, all I want is a baby brother or sister. Nothing else.”
- Me: “Nothing else?”
- Zoey: “Nothing else.”
Insert spear into heart.
I wish she would have asked for that silly Hatchimal.
We’re not rich by any means, but up to this point I’ve been able to give Zoey what she wants for Christmas each year. Whether it’s a specific princess doll or new paint supplies, it’s always been under that Christmas tree on December 25. Other than that time when she was three and asked for a volcano, only to be disappointed that Santa brought her a volcano science kit and not a real volcano in the back yard…
I didn’t have the heart to say: “Mommy doesn’t believe that is going to happen.” I didn’t have the will to say what I was really thinking: That I’m done wishing and hoping for babies that never come. That I’m tired of being heartbroken and disappointed. That I’m ready to let go of growing our family. Instead, all I could muster was “okay, well… I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
I guess we’ll see.
We’re officially “trying”… and I couldn’t be more terrified.