Those Annoying Adenoids

 Little J went under the knife this morning. He thought it was a cool adventure (at least in the beginning), I was a nervous wreck. We had gone to the surgical center on Wednesday for the tour. The nurses were wonderful and really made Little J feel at home. They basically walked him through what was going to happen, what he would be seeing and feeling, and who would be where.

We arrived at 6:45 this morning and checked in. The nurses all remembered him and stopped by to say hi. They let us dress him in his gown and stay with him for a while. They gave him some medication that would help calm him down for the big separation. At first, all it did was make him incredibly hyper. He was bouncing off the walls and singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" at the top of his lungs. We got him to sit still by taking his picture numerous times. Once the medication really started to work, the anesthesiologist came to get him and he let the doctor carry him off without even blinking an eye. That was the last we saw of him for about 45 minutes.

When we went to recovery, he was screaming his head off and trying to simultaneously pull out his IV and head for the door. He had decided that anyone in scrubs was the enemy and was letting them know it. He screamed for about half an hour until they finally let us take him home. He started calming down as soon as we went out the door.

When we got home, he was a little weepy and clingy for about an hour and then announced that he was all better. He started bouncing off the walls and that lasted until we put him down for the night at 6:30 pm (since he didn't nap, he was exhausted). He had some difficulty keeping lunch down but snacked and ate dinner with no problems.

Now that he is sleeping, our only issue is that he keeps coughing. His throat must hurt because he starts crying each time he coughs. I have a feeling that it might be a long night.

The Sounds of Silence

 So, last Friday night Big J and I went to the Brewers game at Miller Park. We had great seats, first level behind home plate, and had a great time. I cheered for the Brewers who won despite not playing their best game. I am a fairly calm fan...I cheer when something exciting happens, stand up occasionally, but pretty much keep it in control.

Imagine my surprise after the game when I went to say something to my husband in the parking lot and....nothing came out. I had no voice. None. When I was able to squeak out a word or two, I sounded like a young boy in the height of adolescence.

I woke up the next morning with little improvement. I called my mother who didn't know who I was until she looked at her caller ID. She suggested resting my voice. At that point, I had rested it the ten hours I had been asleep and it hadn't helped any. Besides, Big J was having a ball coming up with all kinds of silly questions just to hear me try to answer them.

It's been almost a week now, and I still do not sound right at all. While I can make myself heard, nobody can identify my voice as mine unless they are looking at me. It was a little amusing in the beginning, but it is downright annoying now. I have no other cold symptoms (thank goodness since Little J is having his adenoids out tomorrow and I'd hate to give him a cold!).

Maybe the universe is sending me a message?? A psychotherapist would probably say that I feel like I am not being heard. I'm guessing the message is to keep my opinion to myself for a while. Hmmmmmm....I don't think that applies to my blog, right?

Women Carry Purses...

 Little J is coming up on his third birthday next month. Apparently, he has chosen age two years and eleven months for a new developmental milestone, namely figuring out the differences between men and women.

We passed through the “enamored with my own anatomy” phase quite a few months ago. Now, Little J is fascinated with trying to find rules that apply to only men or only women.
For example:
Little J: What color is Daddy’s car?
Me: Silver.
Little J: Oh, what color is your car?
Me: Black.
(Keep in mind, Little J knows his colors. He just likes to play the “what color is your fill in the blank here” game with everyone he sees. I guess it is revenge for us trying to teach him his colors by constantly asking him what color everything was. Turnabout is fair play.)
Little J: So men have silver cars and mommies have black cars?

Then follows a pathetic attempt by me to explain that men and women can drive any color cars they want. And, by the way, not all women are mommies. I’m really going to screw this kid up, aren’t I?

Yesterday, he developed a new fascination with who exactly carries purses. We went through a litany of family members, identifying if each carries a purse or not. Little J seemed to grasp that women carry purses and men don’t (with a noted exception for diaper bags). I figured that the subject was closed and that we would move onto our next obsession. Wrong.

Today, we stopped at Starbucks to get our daily fixes: caffeine for me and vanilla milk for him. He always enjoys chatting up the barristas who oooh and aaah over him to his delight. Except for this morning when the following conversation took place.

Starbucks barrista girl: How are you this morning, cutie?
Little J: Good. Do you have a purse?
SB: Yes I do.
Little J: I not have a purse – I a boy.
SB: Oh? Boys don’t carry a purse, do they?
Little J: No, they carry a penis.

Cue shocked look on barrista’s face.
I think I’ll use the drive through for a while.