On a Newly Found Appreciation of Flopping.

One of the best things about having this third transplant is being able to flop into bed, warm up under the covers and happily hit the proverbial hay. No machines to set up, no 2.5 bags of dialyzate fluid to heat. No tubes to attach.

Just sleep! No medical rigamarole with which to contend. Sometimes, I even skip brushing my teeth.

But don’t tell anyone.*



*especially my soon-to-be three year old son, who only recently started ‘tolerating’ brushing his teeth.**Those kids, man. They watch everything you do. Parenting can be summed up: just don’t do everything you really want to do because there’s little toddler hawk-eyes watching you. All the time.  

**I am being a tad generous with the phrase “brushing his teeth”. It pretty much is a quick toothbrush-in-the-mouth-two-seconds-of-minimal-contact- of-said-toothbrush-with-his-teeth, and a gargle of water and spit into the sink. He likes the spitting part the best. Oh, and spreading the toothpaste from his brush onto the mirror, tub, vanity, etc. Fun times.