Hooray!

Jeff's coming home tomorrow/today! Depending on whether or not you subscribe to my brother's belief that "It's not tomorrow until you go to sleep and wake up again" (I do). It's good news all around- he's doing much better, I got most of the stuff I messed up worked out, and I had a pretty good week, unlike last week (which was horrid, except for the people who helped me in one way or another- Carla, Jenell, Angela, Sara, Brynn, Jen, and Mel, plus our families).

I also got to go for a 2-hour visit tonight, which was so great. I think that besides last Saturday, when he came home for most of the day, I had seen him a total of three hours since he checked in. I saw him more than that when we were separated! It's been really hard on us both. I know this week in particular has been a really tough one for him. Ever since he really started getting better (late last week), he's been really, really bored at the hospital. There is literally nothing for him to do for most of the day, unless he wants to watch TV. That gets old pretty fast when you're in a hospital (speaking from my 6-day hospital experience after having Gabe and Eva). And he's been in long enough that this week it was pretty much just family visiting.

But all that aside, I'm just really glad he's going to be back. His sister, who has been visiting him almost daily (she works across the street) is taking off work early to bring him home (thanks Em! not that she reads my blog).

I saw my psychiatrist this week, and she did increase my dosage after talking to me about how things have been. I almost cried in her office, which was really scary- it is impossibly difficult for me to cry in front of anyone who is not Jeff or my kids, and I'd give almost anything to avoid it. I just can't be that vulnerable with other people. The time last year when I cried on Jeff's shoulder through pretty much an entire SP gathering is the one, huge exception- I felt awful, I hated doing it, hated attracting attention that way (even positive, sympathetic attention is more than I can bear while crying, most of the time). I can still remember how badly I needed to cry, and how completely mortified I was that I actually did it. But anyway. I guess that's just the exception that proves the rule, to be completely cliche.

I'm really good at shooting off on tangents. But right now, the thought that is always just under the surface of whatever I say or do is, "he's coming home!" and that is better news than anyone can imagine. As my very perceptive psychiatrist noted on Tuesday, he's been gone a lot longer than three weeks (did I mention that I love her?).