Happiness

Last Monday, Andy stayed home sick.  With his hoarse voice, he called to start the process of getting me scheduled to see an ENT (ear, nose, and throat specialist; otolaryngologist), which arrangements the primary care doctor actually organizes.  "We'll call you this afternoon with your appointment time."  Andy slept in the afternoon, and I answered the ringing phone to get the needed information.  The good news: an appointment is scheduled.  The bad news: not 'til February 22.  Three years ago I punctured my eardrum and went to this ENT; because I'm already a patient of his, I'm not allowed to switch doctors.  Sorry, but he's on vacation.  

This was bad news to receive, for two reasons.  1) I don't know what's wrong with my voice until I see the ENT, so don't necessarily know if I'm causing further damage or how long a process this will be, or if any of the damage will be permanent.  That is scary.  2) I'm going to have a baby any week, so waiting two additional weeks to start seeing a doctor with  whom I'll undoubtedly need follow-up appointments, an hour from home, is a pain in the butt, if not actually impossible. 

I cried, quite a lot actually, in my quiet home full of sleepers.  I found that not only does crying bring on the usual stuffed nose and ruddy, puffy face--but apparently crying involves the vocal cords, and the stress of sobbing really made my throat feel terrible.  I was still a weepy mess when Andy woke up, and after finding out why, he sent me out the door with a hug to think and freshen up and settle down with another walk on a beautiful day. 

When I came home, I pulled off my boots at the back door, and pulled off my wet, sandy-hemmed pants to toss in the laundry basket, and was about to run through the living room to re-dress when Andy called me over to his arms.  He had just put "Happiness" (You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown) on the GrooveShark queue, and he wanted to dance.  I asked if I could, you know, go put some pants on first.  He said, "No, it doesn't matter," and proceeded to hold me close, standing there in leg warmers and a big fuzzy maternity sweater, so, so thankful for this man who loves me through it all.  I cried all over again in his arms while listening to the lyrics about life's simple pleasures.  But this time, I cried because of the goodness of the moment, and the reminder that everything that matters most is whole and just right.  Happiness is remembering to be thankful for the small things, because all together they make up our Big. 

Happiness is finding a pencil, pizza with sausage, telling the time.  

Happiness is learning to whistle, tying your shoe for the very first time.  

Happiness is playing the drum in your own school band, 

and happiness is walking hand in hand.  

Happiness is two kinds of ice cream, knowing a secret, climbing a tree.  

Happiness is five different crayons, catching a firefly, setting him free.  

Happiness is being alone every now and then, 

and happiness is coming home again.

Happiness is morning and evening, daytime and night time, too.  

For happiness is anyone and anything at all that's loved by you.  

Happiness is having a sister, sharing a sandwich, getting along.  

Happiness is singing together when day is through, 

and happiness is those who sing with you. 

Happiness is morning and evening, daytime and nighttime too.  

For happiness is anyone and anything at all that's loved by you.