No visit on Sunday. We’re trying to schedule one for later this month, but who knows. So that’s discouraging, and I’m going to put the truck where I won’t see it, because it’s kind of depressing. Of course, I still hope that I’ll be giving it to him in a week or two, so the hope chest isn’t a good destination—shoot, maybe I’ll jam it under the bed. Mr. Book told me that he spend Monday wishing that we had a kid. I spent it feeling slightly out of it and nauseated. I feel hopeless when I think about it, which isn’t reasonable, but he’s already changed so much, and I missed it. I’m going to miss just about every important thing that happens in his childhood, and that’s just how it’s going to be, but it’s one of the things you can’t feel the emotional weight of before you’ve actually signed the papers and lost your son.
In other exciting news, I went ahead and made those tofu spring rolls just for me and my sweetie, and they turned out amazing. I can consider it practice for when they visit us in April or May; I’m thinking about a sort of vegan dim sum setup, although obvious more broadly Asian than a traditional dim sum. I can’t really give him the truck when they come, because that feels too weird for me—I think I’m using the mental excuse of the hostess gift idea to let me take a truck up to the Emerald City. It’s possible that we’ll have a visit this Sunday, or a week from Friday—or not. Ruth is willing to try to meet up, tho, which is greatly appreciated.