So, this last week I decided it was time to get my hair cut again. I had not had my hair cut since last February (yes, really) and it was indeed time. I have neglected myself sorely these last two years, but for a better cause. Anyways, my hair. So I don't have a stylist anymore (mine became too popular and you have to schedule your appointments out a year in advance. Right, like I know what my crazy life will be like in a YEAR!) Last Monday I just went through several salon websites just trying to decide which I would pick to entrust my hair too (it's a really big deal you see) and I finally land on one in particular about 30 minutes away from me. I had no idea why I picked this one, I just did. So I call and tell them to just give me whoever, I don't care.
Yesterday, the big day arrived. New hair......new me? I was so very excited! There is nothing like getting your hair cut and I usually always do something different every time I go. I get bored easily.........hard to believe eh? Well, I meet my new girl and she seems really nice and I'm happy. She starts washing my hair, we start chatting. She had a picture of a sweet three month old little boy at her booth and we chatted about him and she told me he was adopted. I thought that was really neat, because for some reason I've always been attracted to the idea of adoption even though I am walking breeding machine. Then she asked the dreaded question: "How many kids do you have?" Oh how I have come to loathe this question. At first, after Isabella passed I would immediately say "Two, but my daughter just passed away, I am pregnant with #3". Well, this warranted lots of ill advice, comments, or even CRYING from complete strangers. *sigh* So now I never know what to say. So, yesterday I just decided to not say anything about Isabella dying and said "I have two, this my third". She says "how old?" Ugh! I lie and say "three and 14 months" (that's how old she was when she passed away, she's frozen in that age I guess.) Then something very interesting happens. She decides to ask me where I'm going to deliver. I tell her and ask where she delivered forgetting she had adopted. She immediately said "I had my baby at Baptist." We both paused. Hm. Then she says "well, I should just be honest, I lost my daughter in April". I couldn't believe it! I immediately said "well, this may sound crazy but I lost MY daughter in May, I just didn't know if I should say anything". We both kind of laughed (like an awkward laugh, not HAHA laugh.) I asked what happened to her daughter. She goes on to tell me that her daughter was 9 months old when she passed and had been born with a rare genetic condition that they just discovered last week from her autopsy. Whoa. So I tell her about Isabella and her rare genetic condition (damn these rare genetic conditions!!!! Don't they know they are wrecking people's lives here??) Then I mention that Isabella died at home, because she was in Hospice. Well, so was her daughter. Which hospice? THE SAME HOSPICE AS ISABELLA! Now, that may not seem all together that strange, however, the pieces started fitting for me. I knew all about her daughter! My hospice nurse had been telling me for months about this sweet girl, because she had a lot of the same issues as Isabella, but no diagnosis. I begin telling this chick all about her daughter and her mouth is hanging open like "how do you know this stuff???". So, yeah, we had been hearing about each other and now here we are MEETING in a huge city. Odd. But wonderful!!!! Her daughter was on all the same medications as Isabella and we laughed about that. Shared memories, hugged, laughed, it was magical. Really. I can't help but wonder if I was supposed to meet her and vice versa.
Well, that's my nice story for the week :) I've got some thoughts coming on Rollie Pollie's impending birth, but I'm tired. (carrying a huge fetus does that to a girl!)
To be continued............