advent. again.

I used to love Advent. Along with Lent, it was my favorite church season: short enough to be tightly woven with text, song, and imagery; a place apart from the frantic nature of the Christmas-Industrial Complex surrounding us; a time full of promises and babies and hope and joy.

Yep - I used to love Advent. Used to.

I'm not sure whether I hate Advent now. I think 'hate' would be a bit too strong. There are still things I love about Advent as a pastor: that text/song/imagery thing is still awesome, and I love the hymns especially, and I love preaching during Advent. (Mostly.)

But those babies. Those damn babies. They're everywhere during this season, this freaking baby-centered season, damn babies showing up right and left, born after long times of waiting, born before they were ever expected - they're omnipresent. Like fruitcake.

I know what you're saying: who hates babies? Who is this woman? Who hates babies during Advent?

Infertile women. Infertile women hate babies during Advent.

(Please note that I do not actually HATE babies. But sometimes it feels that way.)

This is, in case you were keeping track (like me), my fifth Advent sans baby. We are now officially beginning our fifth year of trying to get pregnant. Which, if you were counting months (like me), would bring us to a grand total of 48 consecutive non-baby months. (Except for last April, when I was pregnant for about 24 hours until it turned out to be ectopic. I don't count that.)

Yesterday, my brother and his wife sent us a card to tell us that they are pregnant. This is very nice, in theory. The card thing was very thoughtful and indeed, did give me space to react (i.e. rage and swear until the paint practically blistered off the wall) in my own time. I appreciated that.

I was doing pretty well until that announcement. We are gearing up for another treatment cycle starting in January, so I was focused on that. It felt good to be hopeful again.

And now, it's just another Advent where someone I love is pregnant, and it's not me. And where the thing I hate the most, much more than said pregnant person, is my own hideous, self-centered reaction to the news. Another Thanksgiving where I have to stand up in the pulpit and talk about gratitude, which today feels a million miles away. Another Advent where I will watch other people's children dress up in old bedsheets and fall over themselves trying to get up the aisle to be shepherds so that their parents can smile and take their photo and then go home and put their sleepy shepherds to bed. Another Advent where I will preach about Elizabeth and Mary and secretly curse them both during the hymn of the day.

It's Advent. Again. Without child. Again. And today, I wish I could fast-forward to January 1. Again.

Good luck with me, God. You've got your work cut out for you this year.