Well, tomorrow is the day. When I took Sammy to the doctor last week, I really didn’t expect them to give me a surgery date so soon. It goes against my very procrastinating nature, but it’s probably best to just bite the bullet and get this done.
Sammy’s grasp of the situation is limited to getting to eat jello for breakfast. And that’s just as well, because he doesn’t have to worry. My guess is that tomorrow morning will play out like this: Yippee, sugar for breakfast. Why can’t I have a waffle? Yay, we’re going to Grandma’s house. Let’s ride in Grandpa’s car! Whoo, cool toys that doesn’t belong to me in the waiting area. OK, I’ll watch a movie in this little room. Wait a darn fool minute, what do you mean you’re taking my away? MOMMY!!!!!
And then it will be over, save the unpleasant car ride home, during which he will surely barf up whatever juice I’ve given him. (But then again, maybe I'll get a glorious David moment.) Oh, and battling with the insurance company. That’s the joy that keeps on giving.
But I’ll do anything for the kid. He keeps bringing the cute.