The End of a Certain Kind of Day

Yesterday, as I went about my day, I realized that in exactly one week I will no longer be doing almost anything in the same way, or at all. Here’s a brief recap.

Early in the morning, Andrew and I each got into one of our Volvos and took a twenty-minute drive on a seven-lane highway to bring our new Volvo in for a routine maintenance checkup. We returned to Roseville in one car. After dropping Andrew off at work, I drove home to our house, walked with the baby through the front door, and left the door open to get some fresh air. It was very quiet, save for the hammering from the roofers. I packed a bag and we drove to a friend’s house so Lucia could take her nap in peace. Later, we swam with my friend and her baby in her lovely backyard pool.

None of these things—none—will be possible a week from now. I had the same strange thought on Monday, in the evening, after my long day at the mall, when we brought Lucia’s saucer contraption outside so she could play while Andrew washed the cars with a hose in the driveway, as I looked on, sitting on a chair on the back porch, gazing at our enormous backyard with giant redwood.

Life is going to be incredibly different a week from today.

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