Gestational logorrhea: week 10

The floodgates opened a couple times today, which is unusual for me lately. First, at the end of Jonah's final music class of the summer, which is also the last one we'll take with this teacher and possibly ever, since he's starting preschool five days a week in September. I've been taking him to music classes since he was four months old, so this marked the end of an era, and the beginning of the separation that will need to take place if he's going to be a happy schoolkid. I cried in the bathroom at the class site, sniffled a goodbye to the teacher (citing pregnancy hormones as the reason for my tears) and then openly bawled while pushing the stroller down the block. It was raining and no one saw me. Later, Josh told me during dinner how they had narrowly missed being hit by a falling tree branch while out for an afternoon walk. I was so overcome I couldn't swallow my food, imagining what might have happened. I left the table since I didn't want Jonah to start asking why I was crying (though he isn't quite at the point where my tears register, not yet). And I just spent an hour reading the blog of a friend of a friend who went through a harrowing medical challenge a few years ago, and I only just managed to find it and read it. At this point, I think I'm looking for things to make me cry, because other than sheer exhaustion (I martyred myself with a pre-7 a.m. gym visit today), I have nothing to complain of. All that's left is for me to race to the mirror and observe the effect of the redness on my eye color (it brings out the green very fetchingly), as I used to do in childhood. Better to just go to sleep. Tomorrow morning, we listen (and hopefully look) in on the spawn, at the doctor I'm planning to fire after my appointment is over.