‘Twas the Night Before Surgery

Leon got his clearance from the cardiologist this morning. With exactly 12 hours until his first time under anesthesia, my feelings about everything have only amplified. I’m nervous for the uncertainty of surgery, I’m relieved that he’ll no longer feel constant pressure, I’m excited for him to hear clearly for the first time. I also feel so much love and adoration for such a small human. He drives me crazy sometimes when he flings his food on the floor or he barrel rolls out of a diaper change and runs through the house naked, but he also pulls on my heartstrings — he crawls in my lap in the morning when he’s still sleepy and hugs my legs when he’s feeling particularly shy. He covers his eyes and giggles when he wants to play peek-a-boo and shares his soggy, chewed-up food with me. And he’s cute, which I guess also gets him pretty far.

I don’t know how some moms manage to go all day without telling stories about their kids. I feel like I talk about Leon as often as a 14-year-old talks about a new boyfriend. I need to figure out a way to summon some social aptitude, because I feel like right now my interactions are essentially a soundbite from that old Bush-Gore Snickers commercial.

Someone else: I’m not feeling too great.
Me: Might want to hit up the doctor — Leon had the flu a couple weeks ago.

Someone else: I’m going to order the salad with beets.
Me: Weird, Leon hates beets — it’s the only food I can’t get him to eat. I can’t even hide them in anything! Crazy, right?

Someone else: I rearranged my furniture this weekend.
Me: Leon rearranges the chairs and his big toys all the time. I could barely keep up with him when he was just putting blocks in random cabinets!

Someone else: I made spaghetti last night.
Me: I once made a human!

Someone else: Kindly shut up.

I might be exaggerating, but nonetheless I’m literally 100% uncool. That said, someday he’ll want nothing to do with me, so I’m going to enjoy my sweet boy while I can.

A lady from the surgery office called me this morning to confirm his appointment and reiterate some of the more important points. She said that she was required to tell me that since Leon’s a minor, one parent or guardian needs to stay inside the building at all times. I responded by asking, “Yes, but how close can I be?” Apparently the answer is “a nearby room” and not “looking over the surgeon’s shoulder.”

Tomorrow at this time the anesthesia will be worn off and it’ll all be over — just another day. In the meantime I’ll be over here looking at pictures of my baby while he sleeps and wading in all my feelings.

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