What I really wanted for Christmas

There’s a lot of things that I hate about Christmas: the traffic, the crowded everywhere, mark-ups on items that used to be cheap and on sale, hyperactive Christmas carols, over-bearing relatives and the need to be nice to everyone just because it’s Christmas.

Out of all the things that I find reason to gripe about, there is one aspect of the season that never fail to make me sad: kids. Or the lack of their presence in my life.

Today is my third wedding anniversary. For other couples married on the same year like we did, this will be the time when they are getting ready to celebrate the first birthday of their child, or gearing up for the date when they will finally pop out the little one. For the hubby and me, it’s been quite an adventure…but each of us can’t deny that we feel their absence in our lives, especially during times like this.

Whenever I pass by the department store and I see parents looking harassed and stressed on choosing the clothes that their kids will wear on Christmas morning, I want to tell them to just enjoy the moment. It’s not like they will be kids forever. One day, you’ll wake up and they’d be too mortified to even ask for your opinion on their clothes.

Whenever I see kids throwing tantrums, much to the embarrassment of their poor parents, I’d like to tell the poor mom and dad to just hang in there, and don’t lose your patience. One day, they’d be nineteen and too jaded to even tell you what they really think.

Whenever I see kids asking for alms, going from one public vehicle to another, asking people for lose change — I feel annoyed and offended more than ever. Not because the kids were being a nuisance but because the parents were too stupid and dense to even care for their young. Imagine being given a gift and not being able to take care of it.

I feel offended–more than anything–not because the kids smell and their hands are dirty. But because here I am, someone asking the Heavens to bless me with my own child, to no avail. While out there, irresponsible parents are breeding like rabbits, spawning children they call “accidents” sending them to fend for them selves and ask for alms to earn a living.

I feel offended and sad when I hear stories about abortions, or of fetuses found in bottles abandoned in front of the church gates. Confused why these babies opted to grow on someone else’s tummy and not mine.

The pitter-patter of tiny feet, the discomfort of carrying another human being in your womb for nine months, the excruciating pain assorted with child birth — I wanted all of that.

These past 36 months, I have done all that I coukd — I graciously prayed to the Lord. Asked him for forgiveness for all my sins, and during times of utmost sadness and desperation even bargained with Him.

I know that my time will also come, I just have to wait. But the thing is, it’s the waiting that makes being childless so unbearable and sad.

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