I love the Christmas season; or more, precisely, I love Advent: the candles, the dark stillness, the anticipation, the carols on the radio, the lights on houses. But starting about 5 or 6 years ago, Christmas Day started losing some of its sparkle. With friends married and having babies, I felt "too old" for Christmas, which is, as Kenny Rogers sings, for kids. That feeling seemed even worse this year, whether because we're closing on in the two-year mark of infertility or because the pregnancy/baby announcements seem to be coming fast and furious. I couldn't even drag myself to church on Christmas Eve. Though the midnight service is not designed for children, there are always infants dressed in Santa outfits or other furry wear. I couldn't face it. Fortunately, Christmas morning brought a flight to Kauai, where I was able to escape from it all. But the blues have lingered. I had thought I might spend part of this vacation working on a "Dear Birth Mother" letter, but I seem frozen and unable to start it. I did spend a few hours on rainbowkids.com and found the cutest little Korean girl with a hearing impairment. I'd bring her home tomorrow if I could!