Yesterday I took LittleMan (in the car! by myself!) to visit my mom. (
Oh, here’s the update: she is officially declared “disease free” – woot! After a horrible – HORRIBLE – first stem cell transplant experience, things are looking up and they are home until after Labor Day, when they’ll go back to do the second one.)
We were enjoying the full-on “Benjamin Show” after he ate and it was so fun to watch him watch her. And vice-versa. All of a sudden, I realized something. I told my mom that he is the “Last Grandchild”. I made that decision permanent before leaving the operating table, and my brother and sister-in-law are done as well for other reasons. So, he’s it.
And I might have gotten a little sad.
You see, for the past couple of weeks, I’ve had some lingering “phantom pregnancy” moments. Here’s an example: I go to pick up a Dr. Pepper and immediately think, “Oh, I really shouldn’t drink this…because I’m pregnant.” Or… “I’ll be so glad to have a margarita – once the baby’s born.”
It’s like I can’t get out of “pregnant mode” in my brain. Much as I disliked it. Pfft.
Now, I know why I made my decision – and, believe me, it is the right one. But, realizing that this little dude is it? Well, it was a little sad. Do I think I could have had a third? No. But I did think about it for a moment, which took me a little off guard.
And this? Is the last time this will ever be mentioned. On to Point B.