I fully look like I got in a fight.
The swelling on my jaw, specifically the right jaw, has gone down considerably and I am left with a beautiful black and blue mark the size of a fist. While still square enough to be mistaken for male, the jaws in question are beginning to appear slightly more feminine in nature, lending a badass aura to my post surgery countenance. With the effects of the narcotics slowly dissipating, I have a less glazed look than the days preceding, and look to have taken on an opponent at least as ferocious as myself.
Being the first day without the hard drugs, this is proving to be a slightly more productive on, relatively speaking. Advil is keeping the residual pain at bay, as well as allowing for a clearer mental state. The last couple of weeks leading up to the procedure, were, for my children, an escalation of bad behavior, including, but not limited to whining, inability to share, and a general lack of even the simplest toddler maturity. Bullying, repetitive meltdowns, and outright defiance have marked the last half of April, prompting a somewhat drastic disciplinary measure. 2 large cardboard boxes have been procured into which have been sorted all the toys in my house minus any vehicle starring in a Disney/Pixar Cars movie, and the Loving Family Fisher Price dollhouse family and furnishings. When the anticipated question arises regarding the location of their remaining toys, I will then reply firmly and clearly that they will earn their toys back over the summer as they learn and display respectful and harmonious interaction with myself and each other. That’s not too complicated for the genius minds I have spawned. No siree. When a child is capable of running to the restroom to flush a bite of undesired dinner, and flushing said vittles down the john, said toddler is capable of being undergoing an experimental behavior modification system such as I am about to employ.
However, to enforce the patterns of communication and amicability I wish to see in my children, perhaps I should not go around looking like I picked a barfight with the first gangbanger that crossed my path. I will be putting makeup on before I venture into the world. And washing my hair. It’s been a week. I look like a battered hobo.