Ouch

So, I had a minor operation yesterday and today I am in pain. I have (no, make that had) lovely varicose veins on both my legs, thanks in part to heredity and in part to three babies. "I have the legs of an 80-year-old!" I joked with my husband. They were BAD. Even the doctor was a bit stunned by my veins. Yesterday I had them removed, some were stripped (the really big ones) and some were heated up and made to collapse. I won't get into the details, not everyone may appreciate them.

They put me under general anesthesia, which I can't say I really like; it freaks me out to think about before and after, though not knowing what's going on is good! They also intubated me, and I still have the taste of it in my mouth, not to mention a slightly sore and ouchy throat. My legs are wrapped up right now, and I can take off the bandages tomorrow and have a shower (hallelujah!). But I am really hurting right now, and walking like a 95-year-old. But I do have the good painkillers, which also help you sleep.

My parents came out to help with the kids, and bring tons of food (my mom is always great with the food), so I am relaxing on the sofa with books and the internet and lots of assistance. It's nice to be waited on for a change.

Three Days at Home

Ok, so the title of my post reminds me of the song by Sheryl Crow with the lines "Three Days in Rome." Ah, if only.

Today is my third day trapped in my house with my children while my husband is out and about interacting with other adults. Charlotte has been home from school for the past two days; took her to the doctor yesterday and she has strep throat. So today she is still contagious and not going to her class at Little Gym, and I've cancelled the babysitter who was to stay with James while I had an hour or two to myself. No need to spread the germs around. My husband is out all day at a workshop, and I am going a little stir crazy. Not to mention the massive headache as yet untouched by the aspirin I took an hour ago.

Bleh. I'm complaining. Anyway...next Friday James starts preschool. We were supposed to go yesterday for him to meet teachers and fellow students and just get used to the place, but we went to the doctor instead. So we will try again on Monday, and then on Friday - 4 hours of preschool. FOUR WHOLE HOURS!! I alternately can't wait and then get all tearful and sad because, come on, my BABY. Is going to preschool. And how did this happen? If I ask him if he's a baby, James says, "No baby." He is so adorable right now and I wish I could keep him right here for a few years, in this in-betweenness of baby and preschooler, when he adores his mama and is still willing to hug and kiss me and be seen in public with me. My girl turned 7 a few weeks ago and is, like, getting, y'know, embarrassed by me sometimes. (Gawd! I'm the mother of a 7 year old!)

My James is calling for me to play Legos with him, so I will go build a monument to boys. How can I ignore a sweet voice saying, "Mommy pway!"