My love,
Happy Valentine’s Day! To be honest, I’ve never been much of a fan of Valentine’s Day, and this year, your father’s out of town on business, so I’m extra annoyed by all the hearts and roses that seem to line the grocery store shelves and wallpaper Facebook. Oh well, tomorrow we’ll go back to the way things were.
I have no news on the baby front, except that your dad forgot to take his pills with him on his trip, so that’s five days he’ll be missing out on. A couple of months ago, I probably would have gotten upset, thinking we were losing time. I feel like we don’t have much of it as it is. But today, I’d like to think I have a bit more perspective. It’s only five days, and what was I going to do? Overnight them to him? Nah, no point. Besides, I’m trying to eradicate the crazy from my brain.
On the non-baby front, the most interesting thing going on is that I’m in the process of planning my 10-year high school reunion. Your father thinks I’m nuts. He might be right. Now, I know you only know me as your mom, but I’m being completely honest when I say that I’m the last person I ever expected to be planning the reunion. I wasn’t the class president, valedictorian or prom queen. I was editor of the school newspaper and literary magazine, but all that meant was I was queen of my own geeky world. People don’t typically remember that kind of stuff fondly.
At any rate, I’ve spent about nine years dreading my reunion (see aforementioned queen of the nerds role) and wondering if I would even want to go when it came right down to it. But then it became clear that there was no direction and no one offering to do it, and I realized all that nervous energy I’d been storing up couldn’t just go to waste; I should convert it into productivity! So in a (not so) rare moment of insanity and falsely heightened confidence, I put my hat in the ring. It was all going quite smoothly until we made the first hard decision: the date. Now people who were perfectly content to observe from the sidelines before the announcement have opinions that are contrary to the planning committee’s. Heaven help me, I thought I’d already graduated high school. Mea culpa for jumping back in the cesspool feet first.
Well, it’s getting late and I have an early day tomorrow, so I should be off to bed. I hope as you’re reading this, that you’re not dreading your own 10-year reunion. Just remember, no one is at 28 who they were at 18. At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself until this awful event is over.
Love,
Me
