So the boy came through his surgery with flying colors. The recovery was actually a bit trickier than I imagined (not sure why that is - every mom who had btdt warned me!) but was also sort of nice. Firstly, my dad flew in to help (which we all loved), so I was able to get out to the gym and make daily runs for new ice cream flavors and foods that might be ok to grind up...though we discovered during the second week that soft scrambled eggs were like manna from the gods...a bit tough to say goodbye to egg friends though.
Mostly we stuck close to home and I was needed as a mom in a way I had not been needed in a long time. We actually had a middle-of-the-night cuddle sitting in the steamy bathroom with the shower running in order to sooth his throat. Either my lap has gotten smaller (not freaking likely) or the boy has gotten WAY bigger since last we did that.
Since his voice was so tiny and it hurt to talk, I gave him a bell to ring when he needed something. It was the very same bell I had used as a sick kid - I think my mom had gotten it at the mission in Carmel, CA where she grew up (I might be making up a more romantic heritage of this bell, but it makes me feel good to think that - and I think my dad liked the idea too). The kid enjoyed using the bell a little too much, if you know what I mean. I considered using rollerskates for a few days there.
So fast-forward to yesterday - the post-op doctor appointment at which he got the all-clear. On the way to the car, he said,
"Mom, it doesn't have to be over...we could just pretend that I'm still getting better. I can keep using the bell at least, right?"
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