I stuck my head out of the shower to see that Little Bear was no longer in the bathroom, and the drawer which houses my makeup bag was standing open, empty.
There are windows everywhere in our new house, and of course they were all open because why would I expect to need them closed in the middle of the day? So by the time I was decent enough to chase down my errant makeup, the container of blush was open and scattered across the light beige living room carpet. Cleaning suggestions, anyone? I'm seriously thinking about just throwing all of my makeup away; I never wear it, and Little Bear keeps causing trouble with it, and there's no good place to store it out of his reach in this bathroom.
So that was Tuesday. Other things probably happened Tuesday too, but I can't remember them because when I don't sleep my memory stops working, and the last two nights... Tuesday Little Bear had a good night, but I lay awake for hours worrying about Matt's impending oral surgery and him having a reaction to the IV painkillers, because they were giving him a narcotic in the same drug family as codine, which he's had an allergic reaction to before... Everyone assured me it would be fine, and it was, but I still worried.
Wednesday morning we were up early to drive across town for Matt to get his last two wisdom teeth out; Little Bear and I played and read books in the waiting room for about an hour before the nurse brought us back to see him. The surgery went well, and he has been feeling fine, energetic, "with it," etc, unlike his wife last year; it took me a long time to come out of the general anesthesia, and I don't remember much about that day or the next.
Little Bear went to sleep quickly last night, but he woke us up at 11:45 pm screaming and sobbing. I hate it when he gets night terrors! He's so upset and there's nothing I can do to make it better—he won't wake up, and it seems like everything I do makes it worse. Someone once suggested that night terrors in toddlers might be linked to teething, and I wonder if that's true: I'd been wondering earlier this week if he is starting to get his two-year molars. I finally got him to sleep by going through a litany of every single saint I could think of... And not an hour layer, it happened again. By 2:15 am, I think he was finally asleep for the night, but by that time I was frazzled enough that I didn't really sleep much for the rest of the night.
One day post-surgery, Matt insists he's feeling well enough to tackle projects. I keep trying to get him to rest, and he is to a degree, but every time I say, "X is too much physical labor, you should wait," he reminds me that my brother went backpacking, overnight, by himself, hundreds of miles north of town, two days after getting one of his wisdom teeth out a couple of weeks ago. He has conveniently forgotten how foolish he thought that was at the time.
And tomorrow is a holy day of obligation! The Assumption(/Dormition) of Mary. I'm so grateful that Matt is still on sick leave tomorrow, recovering from surgery, so that we can go to the noon Mass as a family and not have to try to make the evening Mass work!