Last night, Sue called me. Before hanging up, she said “Text me in the morning.” My response: “About what?” I completely, totally, for a split second FORGOT about my appt with Dr Obgyn this morning. She started laughing & said “Well, that’s definitely a positive sign.”
Yep, she’s right. Things are different this morning. I don’t feel like puking from nerves. My stomach’s not in knots. I’m not mentally preparing myself for bad news. I’m excited instead of terrified. This is a new experience for me, & I gotta say, I’m a fan. And right now, I’m fighting the urge to write a plea to the Miscarriage Gods to forgive my audacity in feeling positive.
Tomorrow is Bobby’s 37th birthday. We’re having it at a restaurant for the first time (his request)… I’m not stressing, not hosting, not freaking out about cleaning & cooking & planning & decorating. It’s fabulously low-key.
& then on Sunday, Jen, Sue, Maggie, Sadie & I are leaving for my grandparents’ house for an entire week. This is the first (planned) week-long visit since I was in high school, so at least 15 years. I can’t wait… there’s nothing like waking up every morning absolutely no plan except to eat Grandma’s wonderful cooking. I feel close to my Mama when I’m there — Grandma has stories that no one but a mother would remember, & she loves to tell them. So often, I wish I had a way to secretly tape her, because I know that if she knew, it would make her uncomfortable. My grandfather won’t talk about Mama… ever. Her death is too much for him. So when we’re there, Grandma has a captive audience. It’s therapeutic for us & for her. Now that Mama’s gone & is no longer able to play intermediary, my & Grandma’s relationship has changed… it’s better, closer, more honest than ever before.
But I still don’t get my hair cut before I go or wear earrings while I’m there. Old habits die hard.