3yo had his tonsils and adenoids removed during the week, and while it was awful, it wasn’t actually that bad. The awful part was walking away while he cried and the nurse carried him to surgery. He had been his usual cheery self up until that moment. He insisted on carrying his backpack and leapster case around with him, even though we weren’t waiting nearly long enough to warrant bringing the cache of distraction devices that I had packed. There was a lady knitting in the waiting room, but I just read my book. It was a mere 30 minutes until the doctor told me all went well, and then long enough to pack up before I could then go into the recovery room and cuddle my precious monkey. At home, he was lucid enough to watch tv and demand ice cream, and eat an evening meal. I was lulled into a false sense of what the night would be.
I have only seen the original Carrie movie, not the remake, but I assume it is much the same thing, perhaps with a few extra gory details to woo the modern crowd. That’s what my night was like, and I was horrified. It was truly awful, the stuff of parenthood nightmares, not just outsider teenage prom queens.
And since then, he has refused to take any and all pain medicines. I am at a loss as to how to help him. I’ve tried what I can and googled the rest. He won’t take any ‘lollies’ and will probably be suspicious of them for a while. Aside from that, he isn’t screaming or crying or even whinging, he is sleeping and sleepy and in a bit of a daze, but still well enough to say No and be annoyed if I offer the wrong drink.
During it all, I’ve slept in the same bed as my widdle patient, as the nurse suggested, and what an awesome thing to (be kicked and pushed around all night) see him when he is sleeping all the time, and get cuddles all the time, and all that angelic child, touchy, feely softest skin !ever! stuff.

During all this, I have been taking antibiotics for the nasty cold that almost kept me from my own Oscars night, and loving the excuse to do nothing at all except snooze on the couch (it’s actually not super comfortable for extended periods) and stay in bed, trying not to watch Bob The Builder again while trying to read. And since 3yo has turned his nose up at pretty much all soft foods, I. Want. Queso. DILLA! I have been hard put not to eat that economical costco twin pack of ice cream all by my bitty self. Because I also had a sore throat for a while, you know.
Now it is the weekend and Husband will soon be heading off to rugby with nary a care, and I have to sit with 3yo to make him drink every 5 minutes. The big boys also want to watch tv but have the requisite levels of weekend energy to burn off before they explode, or achieve some sort of mischief while I languish in front of Alice In Wonderland. I also want to go (back to bed) outside, but 3yo just isn’t up to it right now, and the antibiotics would also prefer me to stay close to, er, home. But things still need to be done, the boys need some level of supervision – husband bought them paint brushes, for goodness sakes –

and then we need to, blah blah blah. What does it matter. Chaos can reign for a bit longer, so long as 3yo is drinking and the paint doesn’t get on the carpet.