When the Wait is Not Alone

Just last week my son and I were having one of those moments. You know, those sweet, warm moments when your kid is this real person and the conversation you are having is something you could only dream of having during those screaming, tantrumy, unreasonable earlier moments in his young life.

"Mom", he said, "when are we gong to get my baby brother and sister?"
"I don't know, buddy."
"Will it be soon?"
"I don't know. I still hope so."
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"I'm really ready to be a big brother."

I know you are, kid. Believe me. I see the way your eyes light up in the store when some other recently blessed family is pushing around a little baby in a stroller.

I see your hesitating steps when we pass them and how you want to reach out and touch that little one and play and dream of life with siblings.

I love the way you think of our little neighbor as your little sister. How you ask if I can invite her over to play with you, even though she is only a year old and I hear how you talk about "sweet baby May" to everyone you meet, proudly, as if she is yours somehow.

How you hold her hand and lead her around the yard and pull leaves out of her mouth so she doesn't choke and how you laugh and delight in her just like the adults do in her life.

How you read books to her when we go places together in the backseat, all the while dreaming of when that baby strapped in the middle will be your own little sibling. I see you. 

I pray along with you every night when you ask God, yet again, to "please bring us a baby brother and sister." And I ache with you those nights when you don't feel strong enough to pray it. Sometimes I don't either, so I understand. I understand.

I hear the longing in your voice when you talk about our family's future. About what we will do when it's more than just the three of us. Of what car trips and vacations and decorating the Christmas tree and simple family dinners will be like. I love that you dream all the time and that your dreams are never empty of hope.

Most of all, I love that I am not waiting alone. That you are as much a part of this as your Daddy and I. That when we suffer the disappointments that are an inevitable part of this process, you somehow know and you sweetly comfort us. How do you do that? How in the world, at 6 years old, can you possibly know what we need?

I know you can't read this yet. Maybe someday you will. Maybe by then our family will look different and you will have forgotten how long the wait was and will only remember the reality of its completion.

In the meantime, hold on little man. Keep waiting with your mama. I can't promise you anything, but I know this: it's always better not to wait alone.