“Balls” in the Air

This baby thing is so tough. And I’m not even the one who’s pregnant! I’m just the grandma-to-be. Oh Lord! I wrote this in September on a return flight from St. Louis.

We are only 18+ weeks in and I am driving myself crazy. Right now I’m sitting on a plane with my stomach literally ready to “toss it’s cookies.” And there’s nothing inside. My nerves are shattered. Ashley has a doctor’s appointment and I won’t know anything until I land. So I sit here praying. Praying. Praying. Everything will be okay. Good. Great.

People tell me I carry too much of the load when it comes to my kids. I probably do. I don’t know how not to. I remember when they were little. When they hurt, I hurt. When they were happy, I was happy. It’s no different now. I think it’s harder. Little kids, little problems. Big kids, big problems. So true. Don’t we all just want to see our kids happy? I know I do. When my kids ask me what I want for a gift for one occasion or another, I simply want to see them happy. That brings me the greatest joy.

My mom used to talk about having the “balls in the air.” They were never all “up there” at one time. I get it. God, I love when my “balls” are sky high. Means life is good. Everyone is happy. In a good place. I used to have Gregger to balance me. Calm me. Center me. I don’t. So I have to figure it out. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

I spoke with my “seatmate.” Rarely do that. Needed the distraction. Asked her how life was. Up and down. You know. Life with teens. I’d been there, done that. I shared. Hold on for the ride. It’s beautiful but bumpy. It never gets easier. Age doesn’t change a thing. You worry. You care. You hurt. You’re joyful. It’s part of the job description. Carry the load. I told her to cherish the highs. And ride the lows. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

As the plane landed my heart pounded out of my chest. I texted. “Landed.” And then I waited.Text me back. Something. Ding phone. Ding. Please. Something. Seconds passed. Nothing. It seemed like forever. And then. Ding. Not a text. A video. I clicked. Opened. And there it was. The beautiful sounds of baby L’s heartbeat. Thump. Thump. Thump. I listened. Again and again. A few tears slipped down my cheeks. Passengers stared. I didn’t care.  The “balls” were back up in the air for the moment. I’d take that. Happy moments. Blessings.