dear silly girl,
the horrible day is friday. part of me is really glad it’s here and part of me is really dreading it. i don’t want you to be put to sleep. but i don’t want you to have bad teeth, either. these are the choices a parent must make.
tomorrow i’m going to hug you a little tighter and longer because the 1% chance that anything bad could happen still robs my mind.
friday we will take you to the hospital at the crack of dawn, do everything that we have to do, take you home, and wait for the drugs to wear off. the hospital drugs that is.
and then i’m gonna drink.
p.s. i’m sorta kidding about the drinking part. we’ll see.