A good day.
My blood pressure was normal. The doctor was kind. I left happy.
I visited the cemetery on a whim (without feeling that I was dragging the weight of a million tons sorrow behind me), and actually had a very peaceful, sweet visit with my boy.
My lovely sibling gave me a present she's had wrapped up for three years and four months. It was for Thomas - a basket full of beautiful gifts she was going to bring to the hospital when he was born. She's moving (and purging) and was planning to donate it, but asked if I wanted it - or at least wanted to see it - before it departed the premises. I ended up bringing it all home with me. For what, I don't exactly know, but I needed it. It somehow made me hopeful, and when you find hope you hang onto it with all your might. Even if it comes in a little wicker basket.
I had an egg salad sandwich for dinner. On the couch. In front of the TV.
The laundry is done. Mostly.
My Beloved is finally home after a horrible, long, busy week of late nights and ridiculous stress. He's all mine for two straight days. And we will have fun if he can stay awake.
I have flank steak for the BBQ. Or hot dogs if we're not feeling fancy. Cozy summer weekend food.
We made a decision. No surgery. At least for now. My Beloved suggested we just stop the torment and choose what we were both leaning towards anyway. His plan, and I love it, is to reassess how we're feeling about it in a couple of months - see if it's still sitting okay in our head and hearts. I am 38 and have a million strikes against me, but we needn't allow time to bully us. And today, I feel some peace.
A good day all 'round.