Today I went to the chiropractor for the first time in my life. I'm pretty sure the volume of cracking shocked even the big Doc himself. He tried not to laugh, I'll give him that, but he did not succeed.
At the foot of my bed sits a small suitcase filled with neatly folded clothes and ziploc baggies and pills and vitamins. On Thursday at 5:30 am, I will load myself into a taxi, go to the airport alone, and fly across the ocean... alone.
At this very moment there is a rubber band holding my pants up. That is all.
On Wednesday night I will tuck Solo into bed, kiss his forehead, and not see him again for 15 days. I will relinquish all control and trust with all my heart that he is safe and happy in his daddy's good hands. (And hopefully eating more than cereal and crackers.)
Yesterday I was reading to Solo before his nap, "I'll Love You Forever," and his eyes became droopy and he drifted off to sleep at the sound of my voice. And I melted. As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be...
These days I eat Apple Cinnamon Cheerios like it's going out of style.
On Thursday we went to see Morning Glory in the VIP theater (leather recliner, restaurant service, ahhh...), I ordered Nachos with the fake cheese and devoured them all - every single one - guiltlessly.
I am four pounds heavier than I was 2 months ago. And that is a happy thing.
A first time for everything, yes, yes there is.