I truly meant to post yesterday, but I never had the chance. I went to my friend's funeral and that really consumed the entire day. Funeral, cemetery, luncheon, bar with friends. It was sad, but not as sad as Tuesday night, when friends of Erin's spoke at her visitation. I cried through the entire thing, as her best friends and brother and boyfriend and cousins and colleagues told stories and expressed their sadness. The room was packed, maybe 150 people; Erin touched so many lives. And she did so in the best way -- by being genuine, selfless, happy, fun, welcoming, and warm. I left the visitation Tuesday and was driving to a restaurant, where a large group of her friends were gathering afterward, when I got pulled over. My crime was not updating my license plate on my birthday -- last JULY. I guess I was kind of asking for it, huh? I have been pulled over before; I know the drill. I have never cried. But with all the sadness from Erin's visitation still brewing around in my heart and head, I just started weeping as I handed the cop my insurance. The I-can't-breathe-or-speak-or-think-or-control-anything weeping. I explained what I was coming from, and he left me alone for about seven or eight minutes, and I really let it all out. Just bawled. He came back and gave me my fine, and I shoved it in my purse, never really looking at him. Who cares about some fine? I'll take care of it. Erin is still dead.
Yesterday, strangely enough, was less brutal. I enjoyed so much being with friends all day. We talked about Erin constantly; stories about her, remembering things she said or did or liked. Talked about starting a memorial ski trip. Drank beer (or in my case, an entire pitcher of water) in one of her favorite bars, giving cheers to her every so often). I have a feeling that every time I see those friends, a similar moment will occur, and I'm glad. I don't think any one of us will ever forget her.
And so I didn't get home until nearly 11, when I showered and went to bed, falling asleep with the lights on and my towel still wrapped around me. I had not one ounce of energy left. Spent. No time for blogging about baby's sex.
But throughout the day, I thought on and off about today, about the news we're going to receive. People kept asking me, 'What do you think it is?' I really don't know. Does anyone? I mean, you get a 50-50 chance of being right. But I don't even have a hunch. I know this might sound awful and uncaring, but I just haven't thought much about the baby, about what it will be like or who it will be. It feels a little senseless to me to try and predict and build expectations or hopes. What's the point? What happens when it comes out totally different? If anything with this pregnancy, I am downright determined not to make too many assumptions about who my child will be. I want to get to know him or her without any agenda, without tying any personality traits on before I know they're really there. I want the baby to feel free to be who he or she is without any preconceived notions from Mom and Dad. And I want to realize that this is a person who will constantly be changing. Who she is at 6 months or six years is not exactly who she will be at 16. Perhaps I feel so strongly about that because sometimes I think my parents never allowed for me to change or grow. In their perceptions of my, I sometimes still feel like who I was at 14. I'm not that girl anymore. And I don't want to make the same mistake.
So. I don't know who this little person is. I'm excited to find out one tiny, itty-bitty piece of the puzzle today.