Ross is all grown up.
And I think the next time he talks to his dad, he'll get a big laugh. His dad. Not Ross.
Ross turned 41 in January. "I'm in my 40s," he now says. As opposed to "I'm pushing 40," what he said not too long ago.
And with this birthday, along with our little lime, he has begun to heed the warnings.
When the midwife came to visit, she took my blood pressure. "Perfect numbers." Of course. And I asked her to take his. "Um, I'm gonna do this again. But I'd like to invite you to relax." Beat. Beat. Beat. "Um, you should be stroking right now."The Point Richmond Doc: "These are scary numbers." And so, tiny pills. Once a day. In two weeks a fasting midnight to 9 am and then we're bound to find out that he has also inherited the cholesterol issues his mom and dad have. Bum tickers. Bum blood.
Hope the lime inherits my ticker. And someone else's blood entirely. Cause in my family, there's the whole diabetes thing. Totally not gonna think about that right now.
Back to Ross's bad blood (pressure). Although I haven't met his dad, I can imagine the same, slow, deep chuckle. Which is what Ross will hear over the phone line (do cell phones have lines? I don't think so, now that I think about it.) when he cops to the prescription.
I wonder if he'll tell his dad abou the lime at the same time?
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