I have spent this weekend feeling very sorry for myself. I have never had stitches before, and I don't know that I would recommend breaking that streak by having them in your mouth for the first time. As though he knew how squeamish I am, the doctor said "I would recommend NOT looking at anything for about two weeks." But, as he didn't know me and wouldn't think otherwise, that's exactly what I did Saturday morning. And as things didn't look so hot, I almost fainted. Literally. Three times. I'm not kidding. I got the fuzzy vision, the thundering in my ears, the wiggly legs. After the third time, somehow I got over it and haven't had such a problem since. I'm sore, I'm talking funny, I'm rinsing with saline, I'm eagerly anticipating the next dose of pain meds (ibuprofen has been my best friend), I'm not smiling because it hurts, and I'm eating oddly. All I want is a big sandwich on a nice Italian roll with a side of potato chips, none of which I can have at the moment. And if you think I'm telling you all this so you'll feel sorry for me, you're absolutely right. Although--things could be a million times worse, and I'm quite fortunate this is the most major medical procedure I've ever had (and it's so minor I was awake with a local anesthetic). But here's the thing--I'm a migraine warrior, I can handle womanly concerns like a champ, but--dental pain? No, I can't. That's my Achilles heel. I would honestly rather have a baby.
However, a major dose of sunshine showed up this weekend in two forms--some absolutely stunning spring-like weather, and A-train for a Saturday sleepover. A-train, like a lot of little boys, loves toy guns and rooting out zombies. As an adult, being a zombie is one of the most boring things ever. So this weekend I gave him some props from an old Halloween costume where I was an Old West sheriff. So he spent the entire weekend being a cowboy. It's as though zombies never existed (well...you get what I mean). He took his rig off to change into his pajamas and when he went to bed. Other than that...
It took me forever to figure out what that blob of lime green is, but it's a water pistol tucked in the front of his belt. He sat and ate his cookies and milk, watching out for varmints and bad guys. He built a bunkhouse wall out of his blocks, and then set up a blanket and pillows behind it because "that's where cowboys sleep." I took him to Joann's with me today when I went to buy thread, and he found a foam gun in that kids' crafts section they have with some other dress up stuff. He didn't want to go to Party City to buy a costume (he loves dressing up and pretending), he didn't want to stop for milkshakes and fries--he wanted to go straight home to play.
I'm actually wearing the cowboy hat in that photo. A long time ago, my uncle gave my brother a wooden rocking horse. We rescued it from the attic, cleaned it up, and the littlest cowboy had his horse. He kept saying the sun was in his eyes, but as it was behind him I have no idea how that was happening (he also told my mom he was suffering from short-term memory loss the night before when he couldn't remember something, so who knows).
The horse must have been a little slow, so he switched to a faster mode of transport for the modern-day cowboy.
He even collected a bundle of sticks so that he could have a campfire. He took them home in a plastic bag, much to my sister's chagrin.
This little guy excels at using his imagination, whether it's playing doctor's office, post office, anything to do with cars, or anything really. But as I used to be oddly obsessed with cowboys and gunfighters and the Old West in general, it was quite fun to hear him playing this weekend. Especially since my brother and I used to have eerily similar get-ups--
Now, I shall drink my tea, which will hopefully soothe my aching skinny gums, knit a little (I've got a sock gusset to increase), and head to bed so I can go to work tomorrow and hopefully not have to talk too much.