Sunshine's surgery went well. It was a little longer and more involved than we had hoped it would be, but she is recovering now. She's moving around and starting to be her old self again. She's upset that *someone* has kissed her so much while she was sleeping that she has a callous on her lips.
Baby, I love you all the time. I know it's been a long, hard fortnight. I would bring you flowers every single day of the week if it would make you smile. I would massage your feet anytime you want it. I would sneak small, vanilla milkshakes past an army of pms'ing nurses in the dead of night for you. I would read books to you until long after either my interpretation of the story, the story itself, simple boredom or the Percocet made you sleepy. As long as I am able to open it, your desk drawer will always have some chocolate in it.
Get well soon, Sunshine. I love you ... even if your heart monitor gives you an E.T. finger.