A lot of things have happened lately that I've failed to blog, so this week is spring cleaning where I will do my best to clear out the drafted posts in my blogging queue.
Since Scott and I entered the professional world four years ago, he has needed to get his wisdom teeth removed. Several hundred headaches, backaches, and mouth aches later, he decided it was time to finally do something about them. As luck would have it, he had a two-day period between his last day at Regions and his first day at Harding to tackle this problem (more on that later). Since he was getting squeezed in, though, his appointment wasn't until 1 p.m., which meant he couldn't eat all day leading up to the procedure. I left him this little reminder when I went to work.

Once we got to the doctor's and Scott was taken back to get started, I started panicking and realized that eight months pregnant women do not handle slightly stressful situations well. They had had Scott sign a waiver saying that he knew anesthesia could possibly kill you, and that lead me to think about raising my son in this cold, cruel world alone. And then they called me back to get my droopy-eyed, puffy-faced husband not a moment too soon because I was about to be a blubbering mess all because of my overactive imagination.
Once we got Scott into the car, with a lot of giggling from him and a lot of walking assistance from the nurse, it was time to go get the pain meds ASAP. He was singing and laughing the whole way. He wasn't so far gone though to keep from critiquing my driving. That's how I knew he was OK.
As the day went on, I learned that while a pregnant lady isn't the best person to have waiting in the waiting room, we do make excellent caregivers. When he napped (which was a lot, thanks to the meds), so did I (glorious!). He was hungry? A milkshake for him and a little off the top for me (delicious!). It was a great partnership. Plus I didn't have to share my Girl Scout cookies (obesity!).
After four days of ice packs, milkshakes, soup and pain killers, Scott was finally ready to rejoin the living four wisdom teeth lighter and a little puffier around the mouth.
The moral of the story was spoken by his nurse, "Get your son in here when he's 16, not almost 26." Deal. Then it can be Scott's turn to sit in the waiting room.