I just got back from the weirdest spa. I think it was a spa. I had a nice, quiet room and an entire staff at my beck and call. I even had cable television, including a special station called “Hand Washing to Avoid Infection.”. I highly recommend the acupuncture. One needle stick, and I was out for hours. I was a little surprised at how often they asked for a urine sample or poked around for my blood, and they woke me at all hours to check my blood pressure. There were never any mints on my pillow, either. Maybe the occasional alcohol wipe or specimen cup, but whatever. Got to take the bad with the good, right? And at least this time they didn’t give me a baby when I left.
So now I’m home. Yay. I am slowly getting back into the swing of things. Yesterday, my husband took me for a car-ride, which perked me right up and confirmed my long-held suspicion that I am part golden retriever. I am no longer taking meds that restrict my ability to drive, so in theory, I am good to go. So for the first time in two weeks, I am alone with Squish. And I am terrified.
It seemed like a good idea. I can safely operate heavy machinery, after all, so how much more trouble can it be to keep up with a four year old? Quite a bit more, as it turns out. I’ll take the heavy machinery. It’s easier to win an argument with a belt sander than with a preschooler, and table saws come with an off-switch. Pray for me. I did not think this through.