Bryan bought me the best present ever last night.. a breast pump.  Seriously, what has my life become?  A life without swollen boobs, that’s what.  It’s just a little manual thing, but OHMYGOD, to express some of that extra baggage was better than sex.  Or Birthday Cake ice cream from Bruster’s. (Mmmm.. Bruster’s.) If my nu-nu did not have stitches in it and I had just a TAD more sleep, I might actually feel normal now.

We went to the doctor today, who is The Boy’s pediatrician but I had never met before.  She’s very sweet and was eager to diagnose Tony’s lucky foot.  She immediately said it wasn’t a club foot.  I’ve included some pics on Flickr that explain further what we’ve found out. (Be sure to roll your mouse over the pics for notes.) We go to see the specialist tomorrow morning, but the pediatrician said that surgery may be the only way to fix his foot.

It’s hard not to start to point fingers when something gets hard.  It’s a common consensus among every medical professional who’s seen him that this deformation is a result of how he was carried in utero.  I want to be angry with my doctor; for letting me carry so long, for not taking more ultrasounds, for not having the omnipotence to know that my child was not growing right.  I want to be angry with the specialist who came in to the hospital for not demanding immediate treatment (or, you know, even taking an xray).  But really, I’m trying not to be angry at me.  Mainly because I know how fruitless it is and how martyrish is sounds.  But you are inundated with the “what ifs”.

He is so incredibly sweet.  I feel like I’m bragging, but he has yet to come into contact with anyone who hasn’t marveled at how laid-back and calm he is.  Just content.  He often just sits, staring and cooing, and I’m still fascinated by how fabulous he is. 

I’m off to nap.  I’m starting to not be coherent anymore.  For instance, every date I had to fill in at the doc’s office this morning was 12/07/07.  Why?  Cause that’s Tony’s birthday.  Is it my birthday?  No.  Today’s date?  Nope.  Bryan’s birthday?  Nuh uh.  But I sure used it.  Every single time. 

I’m sure the office thinks I’m retarded.  And they’d be half right.