Say A Prayer for My Baby Boy.

At his checkup yesterday, Cam's pediatrician said to me, "What a beautiful boy this is!" And isn't he though?

Yes, I know he’s 10– he will always and forever be my only baby boy and we’re both totally fine with that.

Tomorrow Cammy will have a tonsillectomy. I hate the idea of putting him through the surgery AND I know he will be so much healthier in the long run. I have heard the full spectrum of recovery stories– from “everyone tells you it’s going to be terrible but my kid was fine within a week;” to “it is the worst thing that ever happened to us.” So, you know– sounds like the next 2 weeks will either be totally fine or a complete catastrophe. Cameron himself was initially quite upset about the whole thing and I don’t blame him at all; in fact, he was pretty mad at me for agreeing to the surgery “without his consent.” We had several long talks about why it is that kids don’t always have the final say, and those weren’t easy talks… However he did come around and eventually acted like it was no big deal– with one unbearably sweet exception: the nurse told us Cam could bring a blanket or lovey of some kind. Cam wasn’t sure he was going to need a lovey. And then this evening as he was going to bed, Cameron brought me Baby Tiger [Exposition: Baby Tiger is the Beanie Baby-sized stuffed tiger Cam received as a 19-month-old baby, when he went to the emergency room for a febrile seizure. Cammy slept with Baby Tiger for years]. “Here,” said Cam in an offhand tone. “You can bring Baby Tiger if you want to.” I said, “Okay, I think I will. Good idea.” Also, because we are not totally consumed with sentimentalism here, I’m also bringing Flat Stanley– sent to us from a friend’s son in Canada. Cam and I think Stanley might enjoy a trip to an American hospital (“Do they have hospitals like ours in Canada, Mom? I mean, like, are they real buildings?” –“Yes, Gabrielle. Their hospitals are just like ours. They’re not log cabins.” –“How did you know that’s what I was wondering?!”)

Think of us tomorrow afternoon, when my beloved son is taken back for surgery and I pretend to read my book while blinking away tears (here you’re thinking, but she’s usually a block of emotionless stone! Well, guess what: my dad has cancer so these days, tears come more easily. That’s just how it is.) Send Cammy some love and some easy-recovery vibes. I’ll keep you posted.


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