Done with a capital D

Erich left for UT last Sunday. He came home on Friday. By Thursday afternoon, I was feeling good. The girls and I had made it. We had one more night and then dad would be home. My mom, the girls and I got in the car to run a few errands and get hair cuts.

I went in first and had one thing changed on my hair. Then my mom went in for her haircut. The girls and I drove across the street to pick up a few things. I loaded everything up and was on my way back to get my mom. I was waiting to turn left into the shopping center. I went and the next thing I know, we were being hit. It was loud, the girls were scared, and then came their tears. I turned to make sure they were okay. Physically they were fine but I knew they were shaken up. I quickly called my mom to come out and get my girls. And then I started to rescue them from their car seats. There was ice (aka glass) all over the car. We calmed them down and my mom took them onto El Pollo Loco while I dealt with everything else. I was in a state of shock and panic but somehow managed to keep it together.

My good friend Stephanie willingly left her kids' little league games to come rescue my mom and girls as I drove my car home. And on that drive, I lost it. I blame it on pregnancy hormones and mommy guilt and my tendency to second-guess and feel guilt and all of the sorts. After getting back to my parents house, we (meaning my mom and I) decided that we should at least call my ob, a family friend, about the pregnancy. He insisted that I go to the hospital to have the baby monitored. Once again, I broke down. What if I had done something to my baby boy? My dad and our neighbor Steve, gave me a calming blessing. And since Erich was gone, I left the girls with my parents to eat and go to bed. And my long-time neighbor, Colleen, willingly drove me to the hospital.

Once I checked in, the nurses reported that I would have to be monitored for 6 hours. Being the math teacher that I am, I quickly calculated that to mean 1 am. I was dying. All I wanted to do was go home and snuggle my girls. To hug them. And let them know we were all okay. But I followed doctors orders. Thankfully, blood work, an ultrasound, and other monitoring, all report that the baby is just fine. After my mom got the girls to bed, she came to join me at the hospital. We talked, laughed, and tried to sleep. And then finally were able to go home. We arrived home to see my brother Brad sleeping on the couch with Allie. I guess she woke up, was confused, and started screaming. Brad rescued her and took her to the couch where they both fell asleep.

I am happy to report that we are all fine. I was sore for a few days but feel fine now. The girls seem fine though Allie is not afraid to tell me she is scared of the truck. And I am starting to move on. My mom and Erich keep reminding me that questioning the "what ifs" will not change anything. And so I am trying to only focus on how I grateful I feel that we were all safe and not let the guilt creep into my head.

As for my beloved Integra, Erich says that is is done with a capital D. Mainly because it is 11 years old and not worth what it would cost to fix and the fact that we knew in a few months it was going to be useless to us and our 3 car seats. I'm not going to lie-I am going to miss it. I bought her 8 1/2 years ago when I graduated from college. And she has been nothing but good to me. But Laney and Allie are infinitely more important to me than that Integra.