In case I was feeling any regret for making the decision to quit my job (which I wasn't), today would've obliterated those feelings.
I took Lucy to her physical therapy appointment. She's got some weakness on one side that should improve quickly with weekly sessions. As I sat in the waiting room with her, the therapist -- or who I guessed was the therapist because remember, I had never met her before -- came out and said "are you with Lucy today"?
I thought it was odd because we had a couple of conversations on the phone and I told her I was coming.
"Uh, yeah," I said.
"Oh ok. I thought Jackie was coming."
"I am Jackie."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm confused."
I remembered at that moment that my friend Michelle had helped us out and taken Lucy to her OT appointment last week and that the physical therapist had seen her with my daughter, assuming she was her mom. Which, in all fairness, is a pretty good assumption considering MIA mom had never made an appearance to PT.
"Oh! That was our friend who brought Lucy in."
As I heard the words come out of my mouth, I got a pang of queasiness as I swallowed back the tears. If that's not a sign of the right choice, I don't know what is.