First of all, I have to be trite and say that "no news is good news." I'm thinking that if the doctor's office hasn't called, nothing is terribly wrong with Alison. I would prefer to get the results in the mail because only insensitive idiots would send frightening medical information in a letter. Wait...am I giving my doctor's office too much credit? Is there an actual rule for this situation? Besides avoiding worrying, I have been snuggling with my nephew, and feeling amazed that his parents could have photos like these, when I was barely surviving at that stage of parenthood:
My bro played baseball at WSU. (boo hiss) So, I love seeing Logan in baseball gear. Since I am a UW graduate, Apple Cup time was always interesting around my house. Mom always roots for WSU; Dad is on the fence. Eric actually roots for the Huskies, OR the Cougs. (whoever is having a better season) I indoctrinated him well when he was a youngster! And I am a Husky all the way.
I never had the energy to go to a pumpkin patch when my girls were small. Ashley was too fussy. Alison was a wild child. But isn't this the sweetest photo?
Or is this the most darling picture? I can't decide. I would never have taken it, because I would have been TOO worried about the baby's little head tipped over like that. But everyone knows that I'm a huge worrywart. That's why I have October photos like...
...my kid going insane in the sandbox. No, she wasn't crying. No, this wasn't unusual. Yes, she IS a lot like her mother.
My crazy, but lovable mom was behind the girls, holding a very squirmy and uncooperative Alison. In those days, Ashley loved to pose. (I wish she still did!) We fought hard for this picture, believe me!
And here is where we have all had enough. Ashley's body language says: OK, I'm trying to be the good daughter, but I am sick of this picture taking. Alison's posture screams: LET ME DOWN. I NEED TO RUN AROUND. My face shows the pseudo-joy of either, "I'm having another beer, " or "I'm going to bed tout de suite. Enjoy the kids, Daddy."
