little bitty girl

You know when you were little you would have all sorts of random dreams of what you're going to be when you're older? I think mine was lawyer, performer, scientist, artist, writer all rolled in one; until I was a teenager and realized that was not feasible. I dabbled with the idea of medicine because I always found discovering what was wrong with one's body fascinating and then I had to take OAC (grade 13, which was only offered in our Province and almost equivalent to first year university in other provinces) Biology and I had to dissect a sweet little fetus pig. I dropped that course very quickly and ended my dreams of solving crimes and medical mysteries. I have however, never ever wanted to be a nurse. I don't think I have the patient, extremely caring nature needed to do it.

I can now say with absolute confidence that I was never meant to be a nurse.

Stefan is now home from his surgery and he's recovering in front of the TV. The surgery went relatively well although he fell asleep (due to staying up late trying to finish projects) on the operating table. He didn't get to divulge any gory details.

He's been relatively less demanding than I expected so far. Other than the random things the local anesthesia and tylenol 3's have been doing to his head. There was the hallucination where he thought he helped his mother moved furniture. Then there was the brief time where he was fascinated with his "giant" cast and how it was going to fall from it's perch (2 pillows) and hit him in the mouth and could I please make sure the giant cast didn't fall and hit him in the mouth?

Then there is also the fact where I told him that it was not the best idea to have a heavy meal after surgery since both those drugs can make one feel nauseous. But no, Mr. Man wanted a big sandwich after his surgery and he spent two hours feeling sick after. Then he wanted roasted chicken with potatoes, at which time after he ate it, he proceeded to throw up in a bucket. If there is one thing that makes me extremely sick to my stomach, it's having to deal with someone else's puke. As I took the bucket to dump the contents out, it took everything in me not to throw up after. Another sign that motherhood might not be my strong point.

In my defense though, my mum has always said that I was a very neat sick person and she had to deal with very minimal vomit from me. I could never, ever bear to be sick in front of other people and no matter how ill I felt, I always managed to tie up my hair and upchuck into a flushable receptacle. Stefan has not been so kind to me.

He's now being fed dry soda crackers which he's quite upset about. He even mention how tasty the last upchuck was. Unfortunately for me, it really was my best roast chicken and potatoes so far. I am not a great potato cook, not being a big fan and tend to undercook them. This time they were poached, then slowly cooked in the chicken drippings with fresh thyme. Then my chicken? Forget about it. It was stuffed with lemons, sprigs of rosemary, garlic and bay leaves. So tender and moist.

Maybe his belly will be up for leftovers tomorrow.

Hark! The majesty calleth from his giant couch for "another tasteless dry cracker" that I am supposedly trying to kill him with and I must go.