This week, Oliver discovered our faces. Wait, let me reprhase that. It's not like he never noticed that we had them before; that would be weird. No, he's discovered that they're just as entertaining as, say, a mirror, a crinkle toy, or a stuffed octopus haning off of the play gym. Lay on the floor next to him and put your face above his, and he'll go for a nose, a lip, some teeth, an eye, a handfull of hair, and a pair of glasses. It's like he's trying to rearrange everything around like Mommy and Daddy Potatohead.
In other news, I am a brave little girl and went through with the toenail removal. It took about an hour and six shots of novacaine. When the nurse was assisting the physician with applying a tourniquet, she had asked him, "is it okay or is it going to fall off?" I looked up at them and asked, "My toe?!" I assured them I was kidding, and they laughed. At another point, the nurse asked the physician if my toe was numb yet. "I think so," he said. "I don't like 'think,'" I said. They laughed again, but I wasn't kidding. My toe has been in extreme pain for three weeks, unacommodating to even the confines of a simple sock. The idea of the doctor digging around in there and permanently removing a part of my toe that is meant to be there was not sitting well with me. I was also told that he would be applying a very strong alcohol to the site after removal, to, and I quote, "burn the root" so that the nail doesn't grow back. That physician better be sure as hell that my toe is numb, unless he doesn't care about his teeth that are looming precariously over the appendage in question.
The doctor kept his teeth, and most of my nail is still there. Now we'll just have to see if my glasses and hair remain intact for very long.
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