Like most children growing up, I heard about Santa Claus,
the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and the Stork. My mom never really encouraged Santa Claus
illusions; who can blame her for not wanting to share gift-giving credit with a
portly old man, even one reported to be jolly.
The Easter Bunny always seemed ridiculous, although coloring eggs is
still an activity I enjoy. And the
reliability of the Tooth Fairy called her existence into question early on in
my tooth losing years. But the Stork… I’ve always been intrigued by the Stork, and
some part of me wished this character was real.
Perhaps the reason I have never fully visualized myself as a
mother is because the Stork story is so appealing, and yet I couldn’t fail to recognize
the high improbability of this tale. Though
I couldn’t make sense out of the details, I was not willing to imagine any
other process. In the mean-time, I
embraced my role as an Aunt with huge enjoyment and every so often scanned the
skies for a large bird carrying a kerchief-wrapped baby.
Alas… The last few months have shattered the small spark of
hope I was holding out for the Stork. My
baby will not arrive via midnight airdrop; however, late this summer the Fisher
Price toys may not be the only Little People in our house.
