Under normal circumstances, Thing 2 beats the rooster up.
Well… he doesn’t beat him up, as in I USED MY FISTS and THAT ROOSTER’S GONNA HAVE HIMSELF A SHINER and BETTER SLAP A COLD STEAK ON THAT. It’s not because Thing 2 couldn’t beat a rooster up, because MY WORD. Our preschooler has dropped nine year olds to their knees with some of his ninja warrior moves.
Thing 2 beats the rooster up… as in, that domestic fowl is usually still tucked into the warm hay, snoring, when Thing 2 first greets the morning.
When the nice man in charge of scheduling at the hospital told us yesterday that we’d need to check in for Thing 2’s tube surgery this morning at 6:15, he kind of apologized for the earliness of the hour. But really? By 6:15, Hubs and I have already had two cups of coffee and whispered behind our hands that we really do not like the Wonder Pets, under any circumstances. At the crack of dawn, the talking hamster is even harder to take, which causes Hubs to say out loud, “If I ever run across that hamster in real life, I will choke him out until he quits moving.” Clearly, Hubs has some feelings about animated rodents who sing.
Of course, when you need to leave your house at 6:00 in the morning, because TUBES! TUBES! WE’RE GETTING TUBES TODAY!, this is what you’ll find at 5:55 AM:
I’m fairly certain that he was planning to sleep until noon today, had we just left him alone. He actually required numerous attempts to get him out of bed, and then it was a race against the clock to get him pottied and into a fresh pair of sweatpants and his shoes, as he was practicing for college first thing this morning, by blinking his eyes slowly in the light and crying over the earliness of the hour.
In all honesty, I tried to work up some sympathy for him…
… and failed miserably.
But, we managed to get him checked in for his procedure, and then we spent the next forty minutes telling him that he really couldn’t touch all the fun machines on the wall, nor could he push all the buttons, because YOU’RE NOT AN ASTRONAUT, and nurses are going to start giving us the stink eye, if you don’t JUST. SIT. ON. THIS ROLLING BED.
Doctors don’t mess around when they start digging around in ears. They’re in and out like a Navy SEAL.
The official report was that our little man was sporting a nice abscess in his middle ear, which explained why we’ve been to our pediatrician four times in the past four weeks for ear pain and antibiotics. She told us that she drained it and sucked a bunch of nasty sludge out of both ears, popped a couple of tubes in, and that she expected him to be a brand new man.
He came out of the anesthetic bawling his head off. You can imagine that his tender-hearted family rocked him and rubbed his back and cried real tears of relief that it was done, and that he’d come out with flying colors.
(Hubs, of course, wants everyone to know that it wasn’t him who cried tears of relief.)
(The boy would also like his name stricken from the list of people who cried in the hospital this morning.)
(There aren’t a lot of other people left on the list of folks who were there with Thing 2, so I imagine that means his mama and his grandma were the criers.)
(Sometimes girls don’t even need a reason to cry, but listen: You bring a sobbing baby out who has just had surgery, and we can drop a good cry like it was white hot fire.)
When his pain medication had kicked in, the doctor discharged our Thing 2.
We were back home at 8:45 this morning.
For the first half of the day, Thing 2 had some downtime with his big brother. They watched every You Tube video on trains, tractors, and monster truck wrecks that they could find.
That’s code for HE WAS STANDING ON OUR COFFEE TABLE, PRETENDING IT WAS A STAGE, AND JAMMING OUT WORSE THAN ANY FAMOUS GUITARIST HAS EVER DONE IN A LIVE CONCERT.
And then that kid said the magic words, when he announced in his best OUTSIDE voice, “Hey, Ma! My ears don’t hurt today! They don’t hurt at all!”
And THAT, people, is why Hubs and I don’t even mind paying out our ugly insurance deductible right before Christmas.
We’d also like to thank y’all for praying for that little live wire of ours. Now the only thing we have to be worried about with the ears is him blowing his ear drum out with rock and roll music that’s entirely too loud.
Y’all have a happy Thanksgiving. May your tables be filled with family and friends and love.