Two days later . . .

Katie is now recuperating, propped up in bed resembling some odd little chipmunk who stuffed her cheeks a tad too full of nuts but refuses to swallow. I could be mean and post the video clip she insisted I take as she was finally coming out of the anesthesia . . . a few short seconds of her giggling uncontrollably and hiccuping non-stop . . . but even I am not that mean. I do, however wish I had a clip of her teetering between the two nurses to the car . . . one step forward, a lurch to the right, one back and two forward again . . . a sort of drunken land crab tango. Or trying to talk to her friend on the phone but making no sense. I have to give Cheri credit, she hung in there and let Katie babble along uttering not one intelligible word . . . none of these events now remembered by my child. But then again, I am not in a hurry to erase that tidbit from my phone either. You never know when it might come in handy . . . says she, who has never been above a little blackmail. So life is slowly returning to normal and I will soon be nagging her to pick up her clothes while she rolls hers eyes and counts the hours until she can escape back to her own place. But she can't fool me . . . I know she is as happy to be back in the nest during this ritual of young adulthood, as I am to have her.