"Mothers are fonder than fathers of their children because they are more certain they are their own." --Aristotle
One week from today I will be traveling to UCLA for my almost final breast reconstruction surgery. Almost final because I won't be coming home with nipples. But I should be coming home otherwise completely reconstructed with one bright, perky silicone boob and one modified belly-boob with a lift. Ooh! And I get a second mini tummy tuck for my trouble! Somehow (blame chemo brain) I didn't realize I'd be completely cut up and catywompus again for a couple of weeks post surgery. In my defense, I was told the surgery would be "easy" and I'd only need to take the week off work. The implication was definately that I would probably, no doubt, maybe be able to care for my kids, return to work and perhaps scale a small peak within 4-7 days. The reality, according to my pre-op paperwork, is somewhat different.
No lifting more than 10 pounds for 2 weeks. No driving for 2 weeks. No driving? WTF? Plus, instead of just removing my expander and installing (is that the proper term) my silicone implant... and liposuctioning my belly-boob and puppydog ears on my tummy... they are basically re-doing the whole kit and kaboodle. They are going to re-open all original incisions. They are taking an extra inch off my tummy & giving me a nice clean scar. Dr. F will have his magical way with my now ugly belly button. Plus the whole belly-boob resizing thing. And... I have 3 and 10-day post op appointments. Which I can't drive myself to because I can't drive for 14 days. Am I the only one who thinks these little tidbits of information might have been pertinent when the surgery was being scheduled??? So, the long and the short of it is that Nana will be coming to stay next week to drive me to Los Angeles. This is convenient since she'll also be taking B to her house for a month once school is out.
One month without B. The very thought makes my head spin with possibilities. How awesome to only have one child in the house! No sibling rivalry. No personal space issues to cause yelling and screaming and crying - oh, and the kids don't like it either. No trying to plan menus that somehow incorporate protein in the shape of dinosaurs or peanuts. Copious parental sleeping-in. We will wake in the morning to birds, bunny rabbits and small deer on our lawn peering at us with gratitude that the small would-be hunter has left the land. The house can be purged of all vagrant rocks, sticks and peices of potentially useful (to a 6 year old) articles of trash. Sigh... sounds like Heaven.
I am going to miss my little boy. I'm going to miss our quiet time in the morning when he squeezes his long, coltish legs and bottom onto my lap in the recliner and holds my little finger while we watch cartoons together. I'm going to miss our games of mancala and the look of naughty joy on his face when he takes my stones. Mostly, I'm going to miss the pure boyness of him. I will miss tho stories he tells me at the end of the day... about the dead fish in the bush he has made into a fort (there was worms in it, you know - eew!), about the tree he climbed so high in that he could see the ocean and Dad was waving to him from his surfboard, about the bad guys that chased he & the neighbor boy thru the jungle but they got away by riding on their elephants and hiding in their fort. I'm going to miss his smile when he waves goodbye to me in the morning. I'm going to miss the soft sound of his breathing as he drifts off to sleep at night.
Perhaps, the surgery will be the easy part.