Foot Loose!

He was cut free from his IV lines yesterday and boy is he loving it!! We make regular tours of the ward so he can ply his charm on all the ladies. The nurses are just crazy for him and he's happy to oblige with endless gummy smiles.

The one person he really dances for is the singing lady! Every other day she brings her guitar and her stunning voice, plunks herself right down in front of him and they have a spectacular time! He even shakes and bangs his rattling toys for her and blasts out an occasional chorus line. Yup, she's pretty much got him wrapped up.

All the professionals have what I'd almost call a loss of clinical interest in him. This relieves me greatly. Our round is done, we're through the first hoop. Now is the fulfilment of policy waiting games until our release. I thought it'd be more trouble than worth, the moving of all our gear out and then back in 7 days later. Let me tell you, I'm clinging to the day we have him in his own room again. I washed everything and got it smelling baby-ready again. It's more exciting than bringing him home for the first time (he's sleeping better now)!

The Family Fun Day in Stony on the 20th is shaping up to be one heck of a monster, apparently. I can't believe what you ladies are pulling off! Amazing work. This is one grand event to be at, people!

I've always been childishly excited about my birthday, reserving the entire weekend, week, even month for little "birthday boons". I know I "should" grow up and process it like every other adult... only part of me feels that that would be somehow sad. I guess my mother's never-ending quest to impart "magic" at all landmark events has stuck with me. Now, on the eve of my 29th, I'm digging deep to feel something. I'm pretty sure there's a tiny twinkle left, down there at the very bottom. The respite from the hospital and a quick dip into our old lives with a movie date and possibly a horseback ride is something I'm looking forward to, anyway. With limb-shaking relief, actually.

The entire prospect of our next year just somehow feels like standing before a wall in the road so tall it reaches beyond sight, through the clouds, with only a bale pick glued to my minor left hand. Well, at least the handle offers a good grip. Damn, I'm heavy.