Fifty-Eight and Ice

I'd been on edge for a couple of days. Anxious. Fidgety. Jittery. Nervous. Stressed. Tight. Taught. I felt like I was chewing ice. Clenching my jaw. Clenching my fists.

It was a new feeling for me. I didn't feel despair. It was more like ALERT. Red Alert. All hands on deck. Prepare phaser banks. Standby. Engage.

Bobo had his whilrwind of a surgery on Wednesday, and I had an important work presentation to give on Thursday. I was given one week to prepare the presentation and hand-outs. During that week, we had the ENT consult, got new windows, had the myringotomy, and registered Chip for kindergarten. I had no free minutes. I ended up presenting for over 2.5 hours. It was grueling.

Then this morning, it was all over. I woke up calm. Cool. Collected. Patient. Relaxed. I hadn't realized just how unnerved I'd been until it was gone. The physical relief was palpable.





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Chuckles turned 58-months old today. He's obsessed with numbers, in a good way. He is constantly asking things like, "When I am 34 like you, how old will Bobo be? How old will you be? How old will Daddy be? How old is Bobo now? How old am I? How many months old is Grandma?" Whoah...that's a tricky question, boy. Seven-hundred something something. Don't let grandma hear that kind of stuff.

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Bobo was quite the trooper through the surgery. He got to bring his blankies in with him (both of them because when the first nurse tried to put his blankie in the patient's belongings bag, he gave her a big lip and sad eyes, and she caved). The word from the nurses is that he was all smiles and friendly until they stole his binky to put the mask over his mouth for the gas. When he woke up, he was not too happy about the whole thing (and he wanted all of us to know it), but by today, you'd never even know anything happened to him.