Thank y’all for bearing with us during the hiatus. I would like to say that Gill, Evie and I just got back from Aruba with gorgeous tans and just handfuls of jewelry made from pink and pearl-colored seashells, but that, dear hearts, would be a falsity. We brought back bottles of rum!
Again, I kid. A bottle of rum would have been nice, however, to help dull the pain of something that did, in fact, happen in our recent past. Lemme splain.
Let’s go back to when Evie was but a wee babe. Awww! She was (and still is) such a precious thing. With her rolls of fat on her arms and legs, impossibly chubby little cheeks and warm, soft skin, my baby girl was not unlike a buttered dinner roll. And just as yummy! I used to balance her little body in my lap between my legs and just smell her and drool. Then she would yawn and coo a little, making my heart melt into a puddle at my feet.
Folks, Evie Langston is a beautiful child. This is a fact. Look it up.
But Mother Nature, she is so twisted. Also: jealous! She looked over my shoulder at beautiful Evie, frowned, and decided to mix things up a bit. Soon, I found myself balancing my darling child on my lap not to drool over her but to rub baby oil on her scalp and the backs of her ears to remove the scaling, flaking skin there called cradle cap. After that, I would take a warm washcloth and start to work on the crusty, yellow gunk that liked to collect and dry on her left eye.
And, yet, still beautiful! BOO-yah, Mother Nature! You lose, sucka!
Luckily, the cradle cap went away. The crusty gunk sort of went away. Then it came back. Then it went away again. Then Evie got a cold and it came back. Then I read online that it might be a bacterial infection in her tear duct, and I should try squirting some naturally anti-microbial breast milk in her eye, which seemed just wrong to me – and awkward to manage. Then it went away. Then Evie started doing things like shutting her little hand in kitchen drawers, which made her cry a lot, and her tears took awhile to drain from the gunky eye. Then it was fine.
You get the picture. It was fine. Then it was not.
Finally, because of the fact that Evie might go blind or her eyeballs might fall out, we decided to mention it to her pediatrician. We had been experiencing a long gunk break, but it reappeared during a cold. I figured Dr. S would just prescribe some drops like she had before, or, even better, tell me Evie would not lose her eyeballs and would someday outgrow the gunk. Instead, she referred me to a pediatric ophthalmologist.
So, I figured the ophthalmologist appointment would be a breeze. The doctor would tell us that all we needed was some over-the-counter drops and warm compresses. Also, what beautiful eyes our daughter had! Instead, he told us little Evie needed a minor surgical procedure done on her tear duct.
Let the fretting begin. Evie’s dad and I are professional fretters. We are professionals because we can roll our eyes all annoyed at the other’s fretfulness while secretly knawing our own fingernails to the quick. I’ll spare y’all the details and suffice it to say that I, for one, was so worried that I refused to Google the procedure for fear some horrible picture would flash across the screen. And when our alarm sounded at 4am the morning of the surgery, we were both already awake.
You’ll be glad to know Evie made it through the 10-minute procedure just fine, and, despite our best efforts, so did we. The doctor, who looked kind of like my 10th grade Civics teacher and was just as much of a butthole, informed us over his shoulder as he jogged out the door of the waiting area that there was a membrane growing over Evie’s tear duct that he removed. He then tossed us two bottles and told us we needed to administer the eye drops and saline solution to our 16-month-old twice a day for almost two weeks.
Have you ever tried to put eye drops in Evie Langston’s eyes? For that matter, have you ever tried to touch Evie Langston’s face? Well, did you hear that toddleresque screaming in the distance three weeks ago? That was us trying to put drops in Evie’s eyes. Eye-Drop Evie is almost as scary as Post-Anesthesia Evie, folks. Almost.
Guess what? Evie’s eye still leaks. And I’m having just the best time trying to parse the hospital and insurance bills. And our precious daughter now has a vague but frightening memory of waking up surrounded by strangers in surgical masks. But, listen, we got a free sippy cup, a free pair of socks and a volunteer-made pillow that Evie will have nothing to do with out of it.