Do you ever discover that you were dreading something only after it's over? This particularly happens to me with doctor visits. I mean, you would think by now I would recognize that I have...issues...with them, but I am capable of mind-blowing denial. We saw the endocrinologist a month ago, but couldn't meet with his on-staff dietician until today because she was on vacation. So for a month I've been saying, "It's actually good that we have a month to come up with questions and figure out what we need to learn from the dietician," and "So this weekend I'm going to type up a list of questions and write down what not-so-little R.'s been eating." But meanwhile, apparently, the freak inside of me has been saying, "The dietician is going to say you are a bad mother," and "One percent milk? What will the dietician say!"
What did the dietician say? All good things. "Wow, you guys have already got a handle on this!" "I have to say, anyone who makes her own granola probably doesn't need nutritional advice." "No, his cholesterol is fine, the RNP is on crack, look at his HDL/LDL ratio." (She didn't actually say the RNP was on crack.)
As we were walking to the car, not-so-big R. said, "So we're still winning," which is totally, sadly, the way we relate to this. And everything. We married each other because we're both like Scoop in The Heidi Chronicles (shout out to ergo), grading everything and keeping track of points.