I guess I'm a little blue. The holidays do that to me sometimes. I start missing Granny, and Papaw, and childhood, and the magic of the season when I was little. And I want it all to be perfect but I know I can't make it perfect and I get so overwhelmed and so I start to think "why bother".
Oh, wait, but here comes Jimi-claus. Who answers my off-the-cuff inquiry ("wanna start trying to get pregnant this month?") with a "huh? i thought we had some things we wanted to work on first before we did that?, and you said you didn't want to be pregnant through the summer." "I don't care about any of that," I reply. Maybe there was a hint of begging in my voice; or maybe that was just in my head. "Okay" he says, like it's nothing. I blink. "Yeah?" Like maybe he's going to say he's just kidding. I tell him I can't stop thinking about it; I want a baby. He tells me he doesn't have that drive that I do, but he gets it, he knows where I'm coming from, he understands, he's cool with it; he loves me, even if I have crazy biological-clock-hormones raging through my body.
I feel calmer. I feel adored. I feel blessed.