Dear Santa...

I love this time of year! I love the lights, the music, the food...especially the food! I just love it! I especially love that my little boy still believes in Santa!! I know that it won't be too much longer, but I am enjoying it while I can! Which leads me to my latest secret to living the infertile life...one must be quick on ones feet and quite resourceful when it comes to pulling a story from ones "you know where!"

Let me explain...
A few weeks ago my son decided to write Santa a letter telling him what he wanted for Christmas. The letter went like this:

Dear Santa,
I don't want any toys this year. Just a brother or a sister.
Love,
Ben

When I read it my heart was both happy and sad. I was happy to know that my dear sweet boy shares the same wish as his daddy and I, but sad to know I was going to have to explain why Santa can't grant his Christmas wish.

I also wondered if my husband and I have maybe said too much in front of him. I mean, he doesn't know about the whole "infertile" thing but he does know that we want a baby and that mommy has to go to the doctor a lot and that mommy sometimes has to take shots. And, I am sure he has picked up on the fact that sometimes mommy does not feel good and stays in her jammies all day and eats Cheetos for breakfast (and lunch and dinner). He also knows that when mommy if having one of her "not feeling good days" that daddy usually has to make a carrot cake run to make me feel better. It really is hard to keep something so emotional a secret (especially when your fingers are stained a Chester Cheetah orange and so are most of your p.j.s).

We have a very open line of communication when our son, so I did not want to lie to him about Santa...but I still wanted to keep the magic of Christmas alive for him. So I explained it like this...Santa can't bring children, he only brings toys. Children come from God. After all, Santa is not a miracle worker just a little magical, God however is a miracle worker and children are of course a miracle. Therefore, we can't ask Santa for a baby. (see that is only half a lie...the Santa part).

Ben seemed to accept my explanation without hesitation. I thought I was really going to have to peddle to keep the Christmas magic going. But, nope. I explained it and his response was "o.k." That's it...o.k.

So, later on I found the letter on the counter. He had crossed out Santa and wrote God instead.


Anyone know God's address?