Yes, unfortunately this means that we once again are not discussing shoes today. I apologize for this week's lapse into seriousness & assure you I'm doing my damndest to get back to the Pretty business of motivational self-tanners, etc.
Today's version of "Where's a grown-up when I need someone else to make this decision?" came with a 4:45 am wake-up call & outpatient surgery for Master P. Longtime readers - all three of you - may recall the mystery sniffles which have plagued my wee precious darling. A few specialists & much hand-wringing later, we got a diagnosis (enlarged adenoids, for those of you hoping for the TMI-style of info that makes this a winner "STFU, Parents" submission) and suggestion for surgery.
Much MUCH hand-wringing ensued - or rather, I, the designated marital/parental worrier, hand-wrung (wrang?), and the Anonymous Husband, our Chief Executive Optimist, patiently listened. Finally, we made the decision to have the procedure done today. I never thought I'd say I was glad for having seen my child poked with needles, but those prior experiences somewhat prepared me for having to assume the parental brave face today as I handed this one, magic Glowworm in his chubby hands, off to the OR nurse:
|I've edited as much of 4:45 am me out of this photo as possible, both to protect your eyes and my ego, not necessarily in that order. Also, this here is the magic surgical glove, not the aforementioned magic Glowworm - duh.|
Oh, and HE'S FINE, doing absolutely fine, and I'm a jerk for not mentioning that there up at the tippy-top. He's doing very well & back to his usual boisterous boy self post-operation. As for me, I hope to recover sometime around 2028 when he's entering YaleHarvardOxfordCambridge (better known as the "University of No Pressure"). Sweet Neiman Marcus.