My husband had a screw loose.
In his head.
But he's all better now.
Back in June, he had jaw surgery to correct his underbite and alleviate his TMJ. I can't help but comment on the fact that in the seven years I've known him, he's had five or six different surgeries; but I digress.
After he extracted a piece of bone from his jaw a few weeks ago (by himself, using the stylis for his phone), he decided to go back to the doctor to make sure nothing else was wrong. Sure enough, they found one of the four screws they used to pin his jaw together, sitting on top of the bone.
So, with Mr. Na in tow, I drove my darling husband to the doctor so that they could extract the screw and he could move on with his life.
I should probably admit the fact that I have a tendency to make my life harder than it actually needs to be. Today was no exception. I've been trying to get Mr. Na completely potty trained and it's been one of the most painful experiences we've had to endure together thus far. Mr. Na is poopie trained, thank God, but he's not yet pee pee trained. And as of late, he's decided that "big potties" scare the living shit out of him and he wants nothing to do with them. You would think I would have just slapped a diaper on his bottom so that I wouldn't have to worry about him peeing in his pants during the two hours we were in the Doctor's office.
But no. I didn't.
Instead, I dressed him in his Thomas the Tank underpants (and clothes on top of that, of course) and grabbed an extra change of clothes, in addition to his three trucks, his sippy cup, a Clif Bar and the six thousand other items I have to carry around whenever we go somewhere.
We had to leave in an hour--and between getting Mr. Na up, letting the dog out, feeding all of us, and taking a shower, I was reasonably confident we'd be late. I just can't move fast enough--especially before I've had any caffeine (though I am only drinking Green Tea now) and so as I climbed into the shower, hubby announced that I had left the dog outside.
By 8:00 a.m. hubby informed me that he had popped his prerequisite Halcyon for his impending surgery--something which would make him about as dopey as I usually am pre-caffeine. From the bathroom mirror, I barked orders for him to feed the dog and pack Mr. Na's "things" (see above list).
At five minutes to nine, I silently cursed myself for not leaving the house earlier, and openly bitched about rush hour on 99. I thought everyone took the 5? Why is 99 backed up? Darling husband was mumbling the words to "Go Ask Alice" while Mr. Na was playing "what's this?" in the back seat.
When we arrived, the first thing Mr. Na spotted was a fish tank. And wouldn't you know it? There were two "Nemos". But of course, in true toddler fashion, Mr. Na said, "Nemo! Poopoo? I hungy, Mama." All in the same breath.
"You have to go poopoo?" I asked.
"Nooooyeaaahhh," he replied (his standard response).
"Well come on, then, let's go," I said, tugging on his hand. A nurse directed us outside and down the hall.
The minute I got him in the stall, he wailed so hard it bounced off the walls and traveled down the elevator shaft behind us. I thought for sure all of Seattle could hear.
I tried everything: going first so that he could see no one was going to be swallowed up by a monster toilet; trying to convince him no one was going to be flushed; I tried bribing him with tootsie rolls in my bag; tried bringing out his trucks; tried begging; tried threatening. Nothing worked. He just screamed and cried and wanted up.
This happened three times during the span of our two-hour visit. I'd ask him if he had to go "poo poo" and he'd say "noooooyyyeaaah" and we'd trek back to the bathroom without success. Despite my darling husband's state of unconsciousness during the surgery, he swears he could hear Mr. Na down the hall.
When my husband came around, one of the nurses took us back to the recovery area to go over instructions. All I kept thinking was, "please, please, PLEASE don't pee now." He didn't, thankfully--as I think he was more intrigued by the ellusive screw they retrieved from my husband's jaw. It was all shiny and clean, and placed in a sterile bag as a memento.
Despite the failures, I have to hand it to him, Mr. Na stayed completely dry until we got home--three hours after we left the house.
And this was just another ordinary day for us!