Recuperating right along...

Dear Nicky,

This morning right at nine o'clock, after I had taken out the trash and stuff, I figure I can have myself a bagel before the maid service comes for their biweekly cleaning. Just as my frozen bagel is coming out of the microwave, tap tap tap, there's a knock on the door and there they are. Whenever we need them to be on time, they never are; and when we need them to be late, they never are that, either. Well, I don't like us to be here when they are. Call it white man's guilt or whatever, or maybe I just find their presence overly invasive. Usually we're at Stepping Stones at the time they come, but not today because we're still doggin' it from your surgery on Monday. So I just tossed my bagel and stuff you into your fleece suit and crammed you into your car seat and we bailed. We went to Target to see if I could find you a new car seat since you've outgrown your present one. No luck, didn't see any I liked. Then we came back home. The maids were done and it was time for your lunch. This morning you barely touched your two bottles, but you did have a whole thing of #2 sized pear/pineapple puree, so I guess you were in the mood for solids. For lunch you a big bowl of cereal with more pear in it, then a thing banana after that, and the rest of your bottle after that. You ate well three more times after that, and that made me happy. (Strange the things that make a parent happy, right?) Tomorrow you finally get to take a long bath, and get some of those hospital bandages off. It'll be good to be clean. It'll be good to being one step closer to putting yet another anxious experience behind us.

Love,
Dad