Either/or. Seven weeks, eleven weeks. We’ll find out more in four weeks.
I’m daunted by these numbers. Far more daunted, actually, than I was at the now two-year-old and permanently postponed prospect of dropping everything and moving to Europe. I’m guessing it’s because I can visualize everything far more clearly. And because my husband spent the day working on a bunch of home projects that had been back-burnered. Everything is on the front burner now.
But, the prospect of spending my 44th birthday–five months from today–within driving distance of my parents, my sister and her family, my brother and his family… the prospect of living somewhere that could comfortably accommodate all of them? It is thrilling.
I’m going to have to insist that they come visit. Yes: we’ll all play in the backyard with the kids. And we’ll cook. Maybe I’ll finally learn to make the dough for samosa all by myself. I want that.
I want a lot.
And it’s all going to come. Fast.