Dillon had his tonsils out about two weeks ago.
What? Um, NO. Not "about" two weeks ago. EXACTLY two weeks and twelve hours ago. I know this because it has been the most miserable two weeks and twelve hours of his (and maybe my) little life.
I didn't realize tonsils were such a big deal. I thought it was like getting your appendix out, and people go back to work like the next day I think...
But tonsils? Nope.
A tonsillectomy starts off okay, cause you are sure this is gonna be the big fix for your miserable little one. Even after the surgery, it seems promising because the patient is rather rambunctious (in my experience) and is playing rather loudly with his train in the surgery center room while you try to nap next to him in the tiny bed. (Of course, for the purposes of my illustration, "you" is really "me/I." But it doesn't matter. All of this is an illusion.)
Because, after going home, it becomes apparent that this is a way bigger deal than you signed up for.
The patient begins a heartwrenching cry/whine that continues for no less than nine days. It varies in tempo and volume, and can be quieted only with the EXACT size portion of EXACTLY the right kind of ice cream. When ice cream is unavailable or inappropriate for treatment, the doctor suggests filling a huge syringe with vile acid and persuading your preschooler to swallow it willingly to help control his pain. Every four hours. Even throughout the night.
Yes. The "night" where you are supposed to be sleeping so that you can be rested enough to fix perfect bowls of ice cream all the live long day tomorrow.
I think, if this does not sound fun enough for you, about five days in, when you are as sleep deprived as Octo-Mom, you should schedule for yourself a thyroid removal surgery. Hey, if the kid has to have a sore throat, why shouldn't mom?
Ug. Even recalling this for you is making me tense and tired.
I just wanted you to know that it is true that mothers will do anything for their babies. Once.
I hope tonsils don't regenerate.
What? Um, NO. Not "about" two weeks ago. EXACTLY two weeks and twelve hours ago. I know this because it has been the most miserable two weeks and twelve hours of his (and maybe my) little life.
I didn't realize tonsils were such a big deal. I thought it was like getting your appendix out, and people go back to work like the next day I think...
But tonsils? Nope.
A tonsillectomy starts off okay, cause you are sure this is gonna be the big fix for your miserable little one. Even after the surgery, it seems promising because the patient is rather rambunctious (in my experience) and is playing rather loudly with his train in the surgery center room while you try to nap next to him in the tiny bed. (Of course, for the purposes of my illustration, "you" is really "me/I." But it doesn't matter. All of this is an illusion.)
Because, after going home, it becomes apparent that this is a way bigger deal than you signed up for.
The patient begins a heartwrenching cry/whine that continues for no less than nine days. It varies in tempo and volume, and can be quieted only with the EXACT size portion of EXACTLY the right kind of ice cream. When ice cream is unavailable or inappropriate for treatment, the doctor suggests filling a huge syringe with vile acid and persuading your preschooler to swallow it willingly to help control his pain. Every four hours. Even throughout the night.
Yes. The "night" where you are supposed to be sleeping so that you can be rested enough to fix perfect bowls of ice cream all the live long day tomorrow.
I think, if this does not sound fun enough for you, about five days in, when you are as sleep deprived as Octo-Mom, you should schedule for yourself a thyroid removal surgery. Hey, if the kid has to have a sore throat, why shouldn't mom?
Ug. Even recalling this for you is making me tense and tired.
I just wanted you to know that it is true that mothers will do anything for their babies. Once.
I hope tonsils don't regenerate.
posted by Amanda
at
8:47 PM
2 Comments
