Feel sorry for my poor daughter. She has to put up with her mother texting her a zillion times a day, asking, "okay, how about now?" No matter how many times she answers, "be patient, mom," it doesn't calm me down much. In all honesty, me asking her three times a day is only a tiny fraction of how many times I think it. I'm protecting her from the worst of my obsession. I'm just so excited to get to the next stage that I've had a hard time keeping a lid on my anticipated joy.
Tomorrow is the date we were told to focus on as the target all along, but the doctor was understanding when my daughter presented her reasoning why she expects to go later than that. I wanted to believe the date the doctor calculated, but unless something big changes in the next few hours, I think my daughter may win the "I know my body best" argument.
So while we wait, my daughter has been keeping me busy with texted photos. For a decade she and I have communicated best in the form of cat pictures. She usually initiates the conversations, and I am invariably in a position to answer in kind. I'm looking forward to seeing all the daily incoming pix of these cats wedging themselves up against a tiny human. For now, all I can do is wait, and try really hard not to jump every time my phone dings.
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