Friday Jon did pick-up and drop-off with Gus. He said, in the morning, that he would start dinner after they got home from school. I walked in the door and the kitchen was empty and quiet.
Jon quickly came out of the living room when he heard me come home and told me that he wasn't feeling well enough for our planned dinner and that he didn't really feel all that well. I became irate. I was already hungry, so feeling nauseous, and I took my anger out on Jon, and then began crying. We quickly got to the root of the problem: I spend all day worrying. I worry about all the things that need to be done before we move. I worry about all the things that need to be done after we move. I worry about trying to pay for two houses at the same time. I worry about being a good SAHM. I worry about the medical care I'll get in IA. I worry about being able to provide Gus with quality education over the summer. I worry about my blood sugars and how they're affecting Bean. I worry that Bean is dead and we just don't know yet, especially since we have an appointment on Friday (9w2d), which is the same gestational age at which we found out Tittle died.
There is so much flux in our lives right now, that I need a constant...and that constant needs to be dinner, apparently. I need to be able to have something I can count on, without changing, after spending each and every day trying to rearrange our lives to move and worrying about how everything is going to play out with that transition.