Amy and the girls were over this morning and afternoon for a playdate. The doorbell rang, and I open the door to a slim, middle-aged man in a suit carrying a portfolio. Hmmm. The special congressional vote was yesterday, so this can't be a lobbyist for one of the candidates. And I really hope it's not a salesman. My thoughts get no further as the man says, "Ma'am, I am so-and-so with the Federal Bureau of Investigation" and he flips open his badge. I stood there, somewhat dumbfounded, processing the long words he just threw my way. Oh! The FBI! Government ... clearance ... Andy's work ... Andy ... oh Lord! My left hand begins to rub my huge, protruding belly, a nervous tick as of late. Thankfully the nice man cut my thoughts off again by stating his business as investigating the background of a neighbor who was recently hired at a facility that requires a government clearance. Alright. I know this drill. Been there, done that. "Please, sir, come on in and have a seat."
Among the fact that I am sure that man will forever steer clear of houses that are full of screaming toddlers and floors covered in toys, he will never know the momentary skipping of my heart at his opening introduction. Sure makes me even more thankful for my beloved husband. Not to be morbid, but any day with him could be the last. I am so sorry, Babe, for being a biting, hormonal wife. I love you VERY much and appreciate you more today than I ever have in my life!
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