Ugh, again. Last Friday when I posted, it looked like things were going to be resolving themselves pretty quickly here in Boston Town. I went on with my day, one ear tuned to the news. We left for a friend’s house at dinnertime, as planned. Then they called off the shelter-in-place for the affected towns. I said, “Watch, someone flushes him right out, now.” And not thirty minutes later, that’s exactly what happened. So we were all glued to the news coverage in, and there’s no other word for this, an orgy of anxiety and tension. Trying to read the body language of the uniforms standing outside the house in Watertown where there appeared to be a standoff — or something — taking place. Not daring to budge for fear of missing something.
But I made cake batter dip for graham crackers and strawberries, so that was AWESOME.
The drawn out tension of Friday night made Saturday feel like Sunday, and Sunday feel like some weird Sunday-Monday hybrid, Smunday. The weather so far this week is similarly bizarre-o and is having its own ups and downs. Sunny but warm; sunny but chilly; overcast; rainy and windy; sunny but windy; sunny and warm. Dear Spring, can’t you just settle down and enjoy yourself? Why all this whiplash?
Finally, right on the 32 week mark, a break in the weather. A sunny, gorgeous day, and Amy’s been to the groomer, and the house is almost clean for company. Within a ten hour span Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, though, two things happened (or were brought to my attention) that split my heart right in two. A friend and her husband on the West Coast welcomed their daughter in to the world, who, despite needing a breathing machine at first and then positive pressurized room air, was strong and well, and Mama tired but recovering. My heart could not be happier for them! Another mom pulled through and another baby made her debut (the — fourth? of…seven? — among my friends and acquaintances this spring). That was Tuesday night, and then I went to bed, but when I woke up Wednesday morning, came the heart-splitting, soul-wrenching news that another friend and his wife had lost their son a few days earlier, at 18 wks. The fear, and the sorrow, and the punch in the gut, all of it was there and melting in to a messy, mixed-up layer on top of the joy and gladness I felt for my other friends. I spent the day with my heart literally split in two halves, one of joy and one of sorrow, feeling both selfishly impatient and selfishly relieved at every little bump, roll, stretch, and jab from the Miss. To the point where I didn’t mind lying awake for an hour in the wee dark this morning being pummeled, since it meant she was strong and snug. I’m still being pummeled, so she’s still banging away in there.
Oh how fragile is a life, the smallest and the biggest all the same. What a difference a mere moment can make, for better or for worse. Tell everyone you love them today.