Sound the fuglehorns and cue the choir: Our girl is back. Some 10 days after a nasty bout of Roseola, Hope seems to have finally licked the mighty bug. She's been rebounding all week, but seemed to finally return to her own Friday, playing with toys and smiling her patented billboard-sized grins.
Hope's also mastering a nifty new trick: Grabbing her oatmeal spoon and jamming it into her mouth with roughly the same vigor and grace as her Mom attacking a box of Cheez-Its. It's great to see.
We're not completely out of the woods. Are we ever? After a month sabbatical, she spat up more old blood overnight, a sticky, thick glob that at first blush could pass for motor oil. Our old friend, the mercurial Dr. Spitenup, wants another endoscopy in early September to see what's what. He's been pestering us about it for about a month, when she was spitting up old blood with greater frequency. We were reluctant because it's requires her to go under and throws her off kilter for about three days. But it's probably a good idea.
A gazillion apologies for being such a lackluster blogger of late. It's summertime and we seem to be in a perpetual state of frenzy. Mo's busy preparing for her sister's wedding next weekend and lining up a nanny to watch Hopesy one day a week when she returns to work part-time in a few weeks. I've been entrenched in the newspaper's coverage of the never-ending train wreck/soap opera/police blotter/political intrigue/funny pages that is Detroit City Hall.
Hopefully, things will return soon to some state of normal. Until then, it's great to see our girl smiling again.