Nolan has always had problems with his throat. We finally made it to the ENT, who said the words I'd been longing to hear all this time:
"We can take his tonsils out."
I let out a mental whoop, complete with happy-happy-joy-joy dance, and I responsibly nodded my head and said "Great."
Last Thursday was the big day, and we prepared Nolan as best we could, knowing that until he experienced the wonder of anesthesia for himself, he wouldn't totally understand.
The procedure went well, and I have spent the weekend with my life revolving around his pain medicine schedule.
Because on Thursday night, I didn't wake him up; and on Friday morning, he was in a LOT of pain.
Oh, the mommy guilt.
Anyway, he's hanging in there.
Glassy eyed and a little out of it, but quite the trouper.
My hat is off, and I bow down to the power of high quality pharmaceuticals.
But I have to admit, as I grind pills to add to his pudding, I feel a little like a drug dealer.
Don't think we'd see Bill Cosby hawking this type of Jello...