This morning at 5:00, my wife and I rolled out of bed. I made coffee while she prepared to take our 3-year-old son, Landon, to the medical center in Macon to have his tonsils removed. Although this is a common thing that's been done for many years, I still wasn't handling it too well. When Landon was a few weeks old, he caught pneumonia. All I could do was hold his little body and pray for him as he gasped for breath and coughed up thick mucus from his lungs. He then had some issues with digestion and that had Michelle and I on our knees in prayer as well. During those early weeks and months of his life, I became extremely sensitive to his well-being, which is why I haven't done well coping with the fact that he's going to be anesthetized and have his tonsils taken out. However, NOT doing this is far riskier because he's had problems breathing at night due to his tonsils being so large. So our plan for this morning was for Michelle and her mother to take Landon while I stay home with our other kids.
I woke Landon up at 5:40, helped him go potty, and then carried him out to the car. After loading him into his car-seat, he smiled at me with that sleepy smile and leaned his head over to rest against my head. I securely placed his stuffed turtle, Pluffy, and his favorite train, Gordon, into his lap, then closed the door and returned to the house. For the next two hours I tried to stay busy, but that didn't help a whole lot. I kept in touch with Michelle and she updated me each step of the way. The surgery went well and he was back home by 12:30. Throughout the afternoon, he cried at the least thing and wanted me with him every second. I rocked him to sleep a couple of times, sang songs, played Thomas the Train, and gave him LOTS of chocolate ice cream. At bedtime we had to give him the stronger medication. He immediately began to drift away and as I watched him fall asleep, a few tears ran down my cheeks. My little buddy had experienced a rough day that had to be.
Here's a photo of my little "Landy" taken last Friday at Miramar Beach, FL. He had gotten really cold and so I wrapped him in a beach towel and held him until we left. His head was buried into my chest and when Michelle asked him to look at her for the picture, he was only willing to peak around my neck with one eye.