Hello loves. Tomorrow is the big day. We are ready. We’ve supplemented with iron the whole month & we managed to have a huge poop at 8:20pm. Edda’s gut is clear in anticipation of the constipation-inducing pain medication. Edda is in good spirits. I was, this morning, feeling incredibly nauseous and awful, a physical manifestation of my emotional state. You know how, before you have kids, you promise yourself that you’ll do anything for your kids as long as they are OK? That you’ll walk across the flames of hell or climb the icy slopes of Everest or be the WH press secretary to an insane person (ok, maybe not that.)? I know it’s not really rational, but this past month I’ve felt like I screwed up that promise in the very first moments of Edda’s life. That when she was just a little zygote in my warm belly, I started her out with such a great disadvantage, how could I ever make it up to her? Anyways, I think she’s going to be really pissed at me tomorrow at about 4pm when she wakes up, but I’m hoping she will be much more comfortable in the long run. It’s a big surgery, but it’s a routine surgery. Every Friday, our surgeon opens up the back of a child and bolts a bunch of rods down his/her spinal column. To him, it’s marks the beginning of the weekend, I suppose. I’m lifted up out of my moody mood by my family and friends. Edda’s charmed many people in her life and they are all calling and texting to figure out when to visit and when to help. I’m grateful.
Vince has been (after electronic curfew) crawling into our bed to show us famous you-tubers. We had the corgi/weightlifting guy a few weeks ago, but he only updates once a week.
Now we are watching some other dudes.