The “It’s A Girl” balloon wrapped itself around Andrea’s mailbox last Saturday.
As we left the party, Andrea encouraged me to grab the balloon; I didn’t want to. It was raining, and hefting myself out of my mother-in-law’s minivan for a simple mylar balloon just didn’t appeal to me.
But, it should come as no surprise, given that I’m pretty much constantly singing her praises, that Linda saved me the hassle, and got out of the van, in the rain, to grab the balloon for me.
She dried it off, and placed it in Baby Girl’s room, where it has shown no signs of deflating, even though it has been a week.
Not that he understands, but we’ve taken to telling Seth that when the balloon comes down, Nonna and Gramma will come back to stay.
I have no idea if there is even a chance that this solo balloon will stay inflated until Baby Girl makes her arrival; if I had to bet, I’d say no.
Each time I walk past her room, and see her balloon floating happily above her crib, I smile. I smile because it is still as high as the day we brought it home, which means I still have time to “prepare.” I smile, too, because I know that what goes up must come down.
Sooner or later, the balloon is going to deflate. And I’m going to have a daughter.