Internet, there are two forces at war within me right now.
There are two things you know about me. Or should know about me. Well, should know is kind of an arrogant thing to say. You shouldn’t know anything about me. I don’t mean that in a if you know things about me, you must be a creepy stalker kind of way, but more in the you’re not actually obligated to know anything about me kind of way.
Let me start over. Here are two facts about me that are relevant to this blog post that you may have discerned from some things that you may have read here in the past, or gleaned from a conversation that you and I may have had at some point, or maybe just assumed based on what you know about me and happen to remember because it stuck in your mind for some reason because it was just one of those things that stuck in your mind, not because you feel in any way responsible for recalling random facts about me as if there was going to be some sort of quiz, because there is not, and I will never, ever, in any sort of fashion assume that you remember a goldiggitydamned thing I have written here today, or yesterday, or tomorrow, because who the hell do I think I am? Come on, bloggers. Get out of your own buttholes, am I right?
Anyway, the two things:
1. I am anti-extreme messy face pictures of children shared in a public fashion. I really don’t think it’s cute. Wet, mushy food is probably what I will die from, to be honest. Our kitchen white board once sported a very urgent, multi-colored message about a bloated sink Cheez-it and the urgency with which IT NEEDED TO BE HANDLED BY SOMEONE OTHER THAN ME before life could continue as normal for so long that the white board has burn in.
“BUT YOU POSTED THE PICTURE OF YOUR KID WITH CAKE FACE!! Ha ha! I have caught you doing something you said you don’t like! Here in your comments section, I have called you out! I have caught you! J’accuse, blogger! J’accuse!”
That was me, doing you. Me, doing my you impression. You see how you sound? You sound ridiculous. Let it go. There is no prize for “But you said that one time… !!!”
(Not you. Not you, specifically. Actually, it’s been a long time since someone called up some random detail I said one time and applied it to something else I was saying years later, as if I had SOME NERVE saying something different at 30 than I had said at 25. I’m obviously holding a grudge, and that’s my right as a lady.)
(Or a man. Not that I’m either or both, I was just trying to head off those people who were going to be all, “LADIES AREN’T THE ONLY ONES WHO HOLD GRUDGES!” at the pass. God. See what the Internet has made me into?)
(Not you. The other ones. Anyway. Stop remembering things I said.)
2. I am very much in favor of copping out, but only when it benefits me or when the person who is copping out is copping out about something that doesn’t bother me personally so I don’t actually care. I suspect most people have this rule.
So, what it basically comes down to is that I feel obligated, in a personal way, to provide a full accounting of Pen’s surgery and recovery, much the way that Swistle did with her daughter’s tonsillectomy. Because I have been the person looking for personal accountings of this surgery, and I have been the person looking for answers to the questions that I now have the exact answers to. And I don’t need those answers anymore, but I know what a ridiculous comfort it would be to find them.
And I’m going to do that. I want to do that. So if you are searching for information on vesicoureteral reflux (VUR) and ureter reimplantation surgery in children, I am going to give a full write up of how it went, but for now, I am going to cop out. With pictures of my kid eating spaghetti.
See? See how it all came together there in the end?
Also – everything went PERFECTLY. She is doing so well. WE are doing so well. Only a 24 hour hospital stay and she’s walking – WALKING WITH HER FEET FOR REAL – all around our house, like she and I don’t even have matching belly scars now. We’re practically twin Sneetches.