I'm practically drowning in my appreciation for modern medicine. I felt a sore throat coming on all day Thursday, but by bedtime that night, it felt like I was suffocating on the girth of my own left tonsil (a terrifying sensation, to be sure.) So Friday morning found Henry and me in the waiting room of InstaCare; me hoping for relief from the exquisite pain in my left throat, Henry hoping to be spared the pain of a "poke" (which he has come to associate any doctor's office with after his last six-round bout with vaccinations. frown!) We both got our wishes. I left with a prescription for Amoxycillin to treat my strep-afflicted throat, and Henry left poke free.
I am still marveling at the fact that within twenty four hours of that first stinky, hard-to-swallow tablet, I went from feeling like someone was dripping battery acid on my tonsils, to feeling "pretty much normal again." Nate slipped right into Nurse Wonderful mode, assuming complete responsibility for the care of our spawn, offering to run to WalGreens for meds, bringing me blankets, adjusting my pillows, and fetching water during my bout with the bug. I guess I'd have to say I'm drowning in appreciation for him, too...but that's pretty much status-quo around here. He's pretty much in dream-boat mode on a daily basis, so I never feel his greatness newsy enough to blog about. ThanksThanksThanks sweetie, your bedside manner was impeccable.
I am also swimming in appreciation for the modern (modern to us, anyway,) miracle of babysitters! I have a smorgasbord of several reliable ones, and I could just eat 'em all head first, I love them THAT much! I arranged for sitters on Wednesday morning and didn't feel an ounce of loneliness in my alone time at Target, the grocery store, the gas station, and the post office. Being childless every now and again is most liberating and self-renewing. And the miraculous part of the babysitter phenomenon? When I pulled into the garage and a half-nekkid Henry came running out to greet me, there was no place else in the universe I wanted to be more for the rest of the day than right by his little side.
I did not want to be by that little side, though, after he left very deliberate, almost artistic, splatters of "pee pee in-a-carpet" on the living room floor Saturday afternoon. I've said it before, and I still maintain that Henry is doing incredibly well with potty training. He'll frequently just go sit himself on the potty and do his business "by aw himsewf," (as he likes to say.) He even remembers to flush and wash his hands. So, all in all, it's going well, but on a few naughty occasions, Henry stealthily removes his underwear and deviously tinkles right in the middle of the living room, when I know full well he could have made it to the bathroom. This makes his mother very mad. But the worst, by far, was when he ran into my room announcing that he'd peed in "daddy bag" -- as in daddy's briefcase. As in the briefcase where daddy's very expensive company-owned laptop lives.
Fortunately, he hadn't in fact peed in the bag, just on the carpet right beside it. Maybe he figured his scolding would be less severe if, expecting costly devastation, we came to find out that his mess was really only a matter of minor irritation. No matter what you're expecting, scrubbing urine spots from your carpet is never an enjoyable proposition.
Even in the face of soiled carpet, illness has a curious way of reminding me that I find myself in most favorable circumstances just for the fact that I'm in good health. I wish I could maintain this zealous appreciation for healthy existence; it's such a shame to have to be so painfully reminded by infirmity. I'll be working on that--gratitude maintenance, it's not so easy a proposition as it seems. Oh, and speaking of seams, as I cooked dinner tonight, in my favorite pink apron, serenaded by the loveliness of the BYU combined choirs and orchestra performing "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing," I had to check my seams, because in a few instances I was almost certain I'd felt a few drops of saccharine gratitude sap drip onto the floor...
but still, Life is Sweet.