When we pull into the driveway everyday at 11:30, I know I can look forward to the "few more minutes" routine.
Jordan: Mom, I need a few more minutes.
Mina: Few mo' minutes, mommy.
me: Ok, a few minutes and then we're going inside.
A few minutes really means about 30 seconds, enough time for me to unload the car, remove the diaper bag, back packs, miscellaneous toys, soda bottles, other refuse, etc. During this time, the monkeys watch the dvd screen, entranced. I keep watching frantically to make sure no one steals the car (leased - that would be bad) or the kids (that would be bad too, I think... ) or that one of the neighbors isn't peeking out their front doors, phone in hand, ready to call child protective services. I have little fear of that since no one reported the entire family sleeping in the car for forty minutes one afternoon ... with the engine on. Remind me to tell you that story one day.
After the requisite "few more minutes," I get them out of the car, and we begin the "Mom, I just need a few minutes to play on the grass." Mina pipes in, " few mo' minutes mama, in da grass."
I had the camera on me today.
Go!!!!! (Mina didn't quite get the whole jumping in part.)
Jordan had his heart clinic yesterday, and we're awaiting results. Everything seemed normal, his echo looked good, same with the EKG. The doctor seemed pleased with him during the visit. I think Jordan is starting to handle these visits better than I do. The night before, we told him where we were going in the morning. He wasn't happy about it, but by bedtime, had forgotten and went to sleep without a fuss. He woke up the next day and we headed out.
On the other hand, I lay awake long into the night dreading the day to come. From time to time, I'd peek up and notice the time. Ok, 4:30. That's bad. I envisioned all sorts of mishaps - some of which did come to pass, others which did not. Having gone through this for almost four years now, I've learned that expecting the absolute worst, is the way to prepare myself. That way, I'm pleasantly surprised when the day turns out to be not such a dismal failure. It sounds horribly negative of me, but it's a strategy that keeps me sane. If I go in there thinking it will all be fine, tests will run on time, procedures won't take forever, no one will rip skin off of him - that's the way to court disaster.
Anyway, it's done. Assuming no major disasters, we can look forward to the big heart biopsy annual in January. That would be four years post transplant. I'll start celebrating after it's over.