View from the Prairie Box

With cheeks like this, who can resist snapping a few photos? I love having the O’Donnells in the neighborhood and savor our time with them before they leave for Japan in ’08.

Liv is now taking ballet from Miss Joie! How cool is that?! Those of you who know me well might guess that I’d struggle with introducing Livia to organized activities at a young age. But everything lined up just right for this dance class with our beloved friend as the teacher. It was more of a how-could-we-not type of situation.

And besides, Livia in her little dancing outfit just about knocks me over with its cuteness.

Call me crazy, but what mother-to-be would be pleased with this Wilton cake topper?

“Feeling big with that baby belly? Big enough to break a scale? HA HA HA! Hilarious!”

Even worse, I noticed the topper is out of stock. As in, people really buy it. [groan]

I absolutely do believe Nebraska needs a Safe Haven law. A few months ago a young woman gave birth at a local hospital, then abruptly left, abandoning her newborn in the safest place possible. I was furious when her picture was posted on the front page of the paper for all to see and point fingers at. If we all want to point fingers, let’s post photos of every parent, both male and female, who has abandoned his/her child in this great state. While it was a sad fact that this young mother left her baby without future plans (like a family through adoption), the child was safe and healthy and well-cared for.

You know what, perhaps I will buy newspaper space in the Journal Star if we don’t pass a Safe Haven Law. It will say:

MY FRONT PORCH IS A SAFE HAVEN. ALL BABIES WELCOME, DESIRED!, AT THE PRAIRIE BOX. MY NAME IS REBECCA, MY HUSBAND’S NAME IS JEREMY, AND WE WILL TAKE YOUR CHILD.

Oh wait. We’ve already said that once haven’t we… Well, there you have it. We will say it again.

She looked at me with a combination of expectancy and wide-open child’s delight.

“So. Should we do crafts?” Her shoulders shrugged and hands were up in the air in question. “…Or paint? Or blow bubbles?”

The Big Three had been listed. These weren’t any activities she was presenting to her very weary, still-in-recovery mom; they were were Big Three. The Best Three. The Only Three Activities that could possible appeal to an active 3 year old on a sunny afternoon.

My Big Three were sleep, lay around contemplating sleep, and maybe a bit o’ television.

I’m beginning to think that Liv and I have different goals for our days. ; )

Swallow. Pain. Talk. Pain. Drugs! Ah. Ensure. Swallow. SoBe Vitamin Water. Swallow. Ouch. Pain. Sleep. Mmmm… Swallow. Ouch. Sleep. Mmmm… Livia. Loud. Bouncy. Ear pain. Ouch. Drugs! Ah. Sleep.

Thanks to my sweet NC friends for sending such beautiful flowers. I love you, Charity and Andy (and I’d mean that even if I wasn’t on vicodin!).

With all the gunk that surely was stored up in my tonsils, I felt like I deserved to lose 3 pounds yesterday morning, not just a few ounces. However, the real reward is ditching those tonsils–so all is good.

The outpatient surgical rooms were small but adequate. I know they were doing a number of cateract and tonsil procedures yesterday, which was keeping my nurse jumping. The anesthesiologist, despite receiving a negative pregnancy test from me, opted to avoid using one drug that can cause facial and cranial deformities in fetuses. The trade off? I would be able to recall walking into the operating room and might also feel a bit more anxious without this specific medication. Not a problem… Their OR was much smaller, much less scary-looking and less frigid than the ones at St. Elizabeth’s I visited last fall. The oddest moment came when the anesthesiologist was giving me medication on the surgical table and she told me I might feel burning sensations in, er, the nether regions before falling asleep. It was then that I questioned if they were performing a tonsillectomy or not. (!?!) Fortunately, I awoke in the recovery area and all that was missing was my tonsils.

Drugs are strange things. In recovery I remember feeling like my head and body were huge, like they were filling up the room. I’m not an altered-state kind of girl… I like the feeling of a normal-sized cranium, thank you very much.

Yesterday Jeremy and I were home before lunchtime, and I was even able to eat a few Ritz and the insides of a Fairbury hot dog while my throat was all numbed up. Today, though, is another matter entirely. My upper throat is killing me and I feel like I’m speaking in a strange Marlon Brando dialect. Swallowing, while of utmost importance for hydration, is so not my friend.

What I’m wondering is, how long can an extrovert stand being silent? : )

**Note: Bloggers on narcotics are not responsible for misspelled words, poorly constructed syntax, or inappropriate admissions.

Sorry, guys. This blog is getting so lam-o. And there’s nothing I really feel like doing about it right now.

I’m facing down a tonsillectomy this week and I am very ready to get it over with. Enough thinking about a painful recovery (as everyone seems to be telling me, adults deal with tonsillectomies much worse than children) and enough taking antibiotics to attempt to clear out the strep infections. Out, out damn tonsils! (Thanks, Shakespeare, for that line. Sorry to misquote you–it’s a cultural thing.)

To make an attempt toward mildly-interesting rather than all-out-boring, I leave you with a few questions…

Three year olds: Annoying or charming?
Tea: Iced or hot?
Pixar: Monsters, Inc or The Incredibles?
Summer: Take it or leave it?
The USA: East Coast or West Coast?
Sports: Social event or serious fan?
Email: Gmail or Yahoo?
Tonsils: In or out?
Latenight Blogging: Procrastination or honest work?

There are some right and wrong answers here, people. (Of course MY three year old is charming… and brilliant… and radiantly beautiful… and only a teensy bit on the annoying side.) Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I still feel like I should be able to look out my back door and see a rainbow over Zion.