Today, of all days!

If I could figure out how to post video, then I would show you the video Lars took of Petra after her surgery. Needless to say, she made it through safely and came out of the anesthesia very groggy and saying all sort of uncharacteristically goofy things (you know, for being such a vewy sewious child). At lunch, I ran home to check on her and to feed Little Tovita. When I arrived home she had just finished barfing and was still very dazed, dried blood covered her mouth and little sutures were popping through the very large (newly large) gap between her two front teeth. I nearly vomited myself.
To be quite frank with you, you'd think that after sewing up torn up vaginas all day long I could handle sawed-in-half mouth bones and oral sutures. I just suppose that you can't control some of life's mysteries. Birth canals win, hands down.
Anyway, she was fairly confused and sedated still so I jetted back to work. At the end of my day, I flew home to find a new and improved Petra. Except for the mouth bit which just rattled me more and more.
By dinner, which was soft food made to accommodate Practically Perfect Petra, the sight of her mouth was beyond revolting to me. Every time she started to talk I would feel my insides shiver. I tried just looking at her eye balls when she was talking, but I have a very active imagination and I got carried away. Before I knew it little tiny pukes were coming into my mouth. Then I tried to look at her through narrowed eyes, I mean for crap's sake I'm her mother. What kind of mother can't even look at her poor suffering child? Puke or no puke, I was gonna look her in the face with eyes wide open.
But, holy cow, her mouth! It looked agonizing with a big crack in her jaw right between her two front teeth. Oh Lord help me, if that little bitsy puke didn't rush into my mouth. I swallowed hard and turned to Lars, ignoring Petra who was yabbering on and on with her mouth wide open, and I tried to engage my fabulously toothed husband in some piece of conversation. All the while my chi felt tingly and raw and shivery and I felt like the worstest mother on this whole godforsaken planet. What the heck was wrong with me?
I decided the best way to keep her mouth shut was to get something in it. Fortunately, yesterday I went to the city's crappiest and junkiest grocery store to buy Petra all manner of frozen treats. I rushed her to the freezer where she happily selected rootbeer float ice cream. I plopped huge scoops into a bowl for her and gently-roughly pushed the bowl under her chin. Whew. Whew, whew, whew.
Please meditate for me tonight. Help me to find the strength to be a good mother? Show me the way! Please! And then, after that, say a little prayer that this is the last surgery any Viking child will ever have to undergo cause I'm just about positive that I would keel over at the sight of a lobectomy or appendectomy or ingrown toenail-ectomy. Keel over!

Post-operative Petra, fresh out of the shower. Mouth closed, TYVM.

The rest of the rest. . .

And just when you thought it wasn't possible to get any cuter, she did.

As promised, Lars in a suit on the day of the big interview. No news yet. No news is good news.

Fat Tova, who crawled off my bed today and did a naked dive on to the floor, subsequently bonking her head on our hard floor. For comfort she nursed and then slept for 2-hours. Lars just woke her up to feed her dhal and quinoa with bananas. Guess it'll be a late night.

Soren is away. I miss him terribly. I remember all the good about him. He's with his Gramma and Bubba on a golf and tennis vacation. He's precious and sweet and never naughty. Never.

That's the news from Viking Village, where all the women are wimpy and all the 8-year olds have fractured mouths.