Getting it all done.

Today is D-day. The surgery. And somehow, someway, I got everything managed so that I can blissfully (not!) take my son to have his mouth forcibly opened in a vice-like contraption and have bits of his throat cut out.

First, I convinced the very hung-over mechanic to finish enough of my car so that I can drive it. I won't even go into why it wasn't finished when he said it already was. I'm guessing that the burden of all the memories inspired by Memorial Day drove him to drink. Or starting the weekend earlier than planned. So now I'm driving around town with a crushed grille, but at least I don't have to worry about the car overheating. Small favors, right?

Second, I scared the clerk at the clinic to give me a print-out of Munchkin's lab results. Apparently, you need the doctor to do this thing. Why, I don't know. But guess who was on vacation? The doctor. But luckily, I was happy to be scary enough to make the poor girl behind the counter bend to my will.

Then I got Munchkin to all of his pre-op appointments so I can hear once again the risks of anesthesia. Whee!

And then finally, I got all of my work done for the week so I can concentrate on helping Munchkin recuperate. I am good to go.

And how did I do this, you may ask? I re-prioritized, I freaked out a little and I demanded that people help me get things done. I refused to take shit or be dissuaded. I delegated. I fought the good fight for love. I am a Mommy, hear me roar.

But what I totally did not take into account is that my son wouldn't be able to eat or drink for 6 hours before the surgery. I mean, I read it on the little sheet. The doctor told me. I knew it on some level. But I didn't realize just how cranky a hungry kid can be. Mostly because at any sign of crankiness, I'm all too happy to shove a few animal crackers down my kid's gullet. Without food as a crutch, I find myself a little lost.

So now, between the stress of getting to this point and a really grumpy boy, I am so ready for the doctors to bring the anesthesia on. In fact, I'll be asking for a whiff or two of the stuff myself, you know, for my nerves. Where's the harm?

Now, if only I can figure out how to demand not only a painkiller prescription for the Munchkin but a few Vicodin for myself.