I realize that the blog has gotten a little...morose of late.
Between complaining about my weight, boo-hooing over career disappointments, and reminiscing about lost children it's been rather a perma-downer around these parts.
And I'm aware of it.
But unfortunately for us all, the only thing of note that has happened in the past week is that my three-year-old had eye surgery. AND IT SUCKED. Which means I must subject you to one more slight bummer of a post, and then I'll try to write something a bit more amusing next time. Deal?
Turns out the Snood had a condition which is medically known as strabismic amblyopia, but is often referred to by its more common name, "googly eyes". I had the same thing when I was a kid, which meant that as soon as I started to notice one of his eyes going rogue when he looking at books, I high-tailed it to the opthamologist.
We met Eye Doctor #1 when Snood was around two years old. It didn't go all that well. Eye Doctor #1 kept us waiting for over an hour. And I get it, things happen, but it meant that by the time we saw her my kid was HIGHLY CRABBY. When we were finally seen, Eye Doctor #1 told Snoodie to get up into her giant chair and then without warning began shoving large object towards his face and asking him to identify them. Snood was displeased and slightly terrified and reacted by flailing about like a caged baboon before making a concerted effort to punch Eye Doctor #1 in the face.
It was not our finest hour.
It was also not Eye Doctor #1's finest hour as she began shouting and saying highly unhelpful things like,
"Your son has a serious eye problem but I'm not going to work with him if he can't get it together."
You know what two year olds aren't the absolute best at Eye Doctor #1? GETTING IT TOGETHER!
She went on to add,
"He's not scared, he's just being a baby."
The entire appointment was firmly off the rails by the 90-second mark. Eye Doctor #1 continued to berate us for our grotesque conduct and at one point it is possible that I lost my head and threatened her with bodily harm.
About two and a half minutes in I grabbed my son and high-tailed it out of the office with no verdict on Snood's eye situation.
After telling my husband my sad tale of woe he did two totally awesome things:
1. He told me that I was totally right and the eye doctor was totally wrong and also mean and dumb.
2. He found us a new eye doctor who was super awesome, saw us promptly and had all these fun puppets and videos that he used to help the kids get their eye exams done without being psychologically scarred.
Which was great, except that after some adventures in patch-wearing we found ourselves in the surgical ward last Thursday having my kiddos eye's repaired.
To be honest, the procedure was fairly simple. Also, to be honest, there is nothing on Earth that prepares you for walking into a recovery room and seeing your little guy in a hospital gown with tubes coming from all directions, an IV, and an oxygen mask.
Then you take him home and he asks you the soul-crushing question:
"Why did that doctor have to hurt my eyes?!"
thirty times a day.
But we got through it and now we're on the mend. The only lingering difficulty is the ointment that we are supposed to squeeze into the Snood's eyeballs three times a day. I though it might be helpful to explain to him that even though he didn't like it, the medicine would eventually make him fell better.
Which has resulted in my child running from me in terror and screaming,
"I DON'T WANT TO FEEL BETTER!!!!"
Whenever he sees me rounding a corner.
Yeah, so back to the drawing board on that one, I guess.