Cupcake(s)

Lately I've felt light-headed and like I can't breathe in all the way. My neighbor told me one's levels can be disheveled after a miscarriage. I don't know where my levels are at but I'm not used to feeling like this. A few steps and I'm winded. I want to sleep a lot. Then again, the temps are in the 90s and every human has that point in the day when they want to curl up on the floor and die because living is just so laborious. My point is usually around 4 pm.

At precisely 4 pm on Friday I was driving around town and felt a wave of sadness hit me about the baby. I have had such good thoughts. Really. But this was a strong sad one. I tried to call Greg and have him talk me out of my funk but he had a customer. I hate when that happens. So I did the next best thing I could think of: I called my neighbor Bonnie and hit her up for a cupcake.

Bonnie's teenage daughter recently acquired The Cupcake Bible and has been bringing us samples of her efforts. (Seriously, why do I do myfitnesspal?) Thursday night we received a plate of three chocolate-chocolate chip cheesecake cupcakes. I snarfed one down, Greg ate one, and then we split the last one because RE didn't eat her dinner (turnip soup...unfortunate for her). Friday morning as we awoke we both mentioned how good those stinking cupcakes were.  So without a husband to lean on in my moment of need I relied on that immortal cupcake. I called Bonnie:

Bonnie: (in her usual soothing, angelic voice) Hello.

Me: This is totally indecent and I know better but do you have any of those cupcakes left?

Bonnie: Why yes, we do!

Me: May I drive by in a few minutes and get one? It's an emergency.

Bonnie: Of course! Can I send the boys down to your house with one?

Me: No, I can pick it up. And really, I know this is bad etiquette.

Since I was on the phone and not paying attention I couldn't get over to the right lane at 100 East. I hate when that happens. I was forced to take Main Street home.

What happened next is completely true.

I was at the light at the Bank of American Fork, still feeling the sad wave, and I muttered outloud, "I'm never going to get a baby. It's just never going to happen." And then, while the light was still red, an older man in a muscle shirt walked out of the bank and the front of his shirt said IT'S GONNA HAPPEN. I nearly started crying. Two minutes later I was holding a plate of three cupcakes, which I polished off before I pulled into my garage. And then I felt better.

IT'S GONNA HAPPEN.