Surgery day...

Having successfully navigated Laundry Day, I thought I would break down and sew the missing button on my duvet cover.  That lead to thinking I should probably try to figure out a better system than safety pins to help with the too-large spacing of the buttons, which causes my comforter to regular come out of the cover.  This is bothersome especially since I recently had to replace the comforter, which is not an economical purchase, but a necessary one given that I struggle with keeping warm now that that part of my autonomic nervous system also does not work.  Since I was going to be doing a bit of sewing, I also decided that today would be a surgery day.  Baby surgery.

Bat baby.  Gorilla Baby.  And Heart Baby.  All three needed surgery, as well as squeaker replacement.

In case you have any illusions about my sewing skills, I thought I would show you the repair I made to my grandmother's sewing kit when I was a wee one.

Ugly, but effective, given that the hinge repair has lasted nearly four decades.  Still, as an indicator of my sewing potential, it was also extremely accurate.  I stink at sewing.

If you could peek inside the pocket on the lower portion of the photo, you would see an ancient packet of snaps and two ancient packets of hook and loops.  I decided that placing a snap in between all the buttons on the comforter cover would help it stay closed.

Sewing snaps is horrid.  Arduous.  Defeating.
Those darned things had better work.

Two hours later, I was ready to set about conducting Baby surgery.

Baby surgery is difficult for someone who really doesn't sew.  It is nearly impossible to effect a proper repair when you have a very, very, very anxious and worried puppy dog continually giving his babies kisses as you work.

Whining.
Whimpering.
Wailing.

Oh, how my dearest puppy dog loves, loves, loves his babies.  He carries them about.  He comforts himself with them.  He offers them in comfort to others, especially his beloved puppy momma.  He aches for the injured ones, when I put them away for their own well-being until we can have a Surgery Day.  He would lay down his life for any one of them.

Is there another puppy dog in the whole world for which the sight of a sewing kit sets him off in a fit of anticipatory glee exuding from every single curl on his fluffy person?

Once a surgery has been concluded, Amos will snatch his beloved from my hands and race around the room with his, happily squeaking his unalloyed joy.  Once he has assured himself that his baby is well, he takes up his place at my side to hold vigil over his next baby during its surgery.

Gorilla Baby is now Gorilla Gimp Baby, because I had to shorten one of his legs in order to effect a repair.  To make up for Gorilla Baby's partial amputation, I put a squeaker in his snout and one in his belly.  Amos approved of that decision.

Exhausted from all his squeaking, Amos tucked his babies in his bed, with all the others, and then climbed up in the GREEN chair with me to have a snooze ... or two or three.  If we lived in a fair world, Amos would do some work for me, since I did some for him.  That work?  Well, it would be tackling the ironing basket, since it is now officially full.

Laundry Days have been successful, now that I have started setting a timer each time I put a load in the washer.  That way, I do not forget that I am doing laundry and I can get it all completed in a single day.  All but the ironing.  Having little, I merely toss those items in the ironing basket.  But whenever it becomes full, those wrinkled pieces of fabric begin to haunt me.

The last Ironing Day went better than any other, because I set up the ironing board low enough so that I could sit in a chair.  Standing long enough to iron is too hard for me.  But ironing whilst seated requires more skill than I actually have.  Thankfully, at least I don't have to iron those napkins!  SIGH.

Amos does work on my behalf in other ways.  He gives me kisses, he lays by my side when I am ill, and he rarely leaves my side.  In other words, he makes my life as a chronically ill, disabled, introverted wall-flower hermit full of love and affection and companionship.  Surely that is worth regular battles with needle and thread to keep his beloved babies healthy, eh?


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!