12:27 a.m.- I've been asleep for 93 minutes. I am warm and I am tired. Porkchop begins to fuss and it's hard to tell if he's hungry or uncomfortably teething. Almost by reflex I check that he has his appliance before I pop the bottle in. It's there. He's still uncomfortable and on the verge of a come apart. I resort to the Tylenol. Check #2. Appliance is there. We head for the recliner. I rock. I bounce. I sing. I cuddle. He is miserable. I reach for the bottle again and he's just plain not havin' it. Without thinking, I do my triple check and dammit all to hell! The appliance is missing!
It's 1:17a.m. I begin searching for a small figure eight shaped piece that gives Porkchop a false palate. It's covered in denture adhesive and when he finagles it out, it sticks to everything. Oh, and he won't eat without it. Identifying it's exact location at all times has become my current life's mission. As calmly as possible I begin searching. Twenty minutes on my own, back and forth between the kitchen and the family room, and I don't see it. I finally resort to waking Husband up. "His appliance is missing." He hauls out of bed and we are now searching together. EVERYWHERE.
The recliner is upside down. I've searched the bottoms of our socks. Everything Porkchop has had contact with in the last seventy two hours. And Husband is on his hands and knees with a flashlight under the fridge. Short of Pig Latin, I have muttered a prayer in every language I know. Please, please, please let us find his appliance! After another grueling half hour of identifying every dust bunny in every crevice of the kitchen and family room but still no appliance, I am close to a meltdown. Both tired and annoyed with the situation, our conversation is limited because if we talk right now, it's just not going to be nice. Husband already tried being funny and patting my butt, and he about lost a limb. We are about to throw in the towel and I'm going to sit down on the floor and cry when husband reaches towards me, and he's headed for my chest. Are you freakin' kidding me? If you're seriously about to try what I think you're about to try, you have just about the worst timing on the planet and you are going to lose a limb. Just at the top of my unzipped sweatshirt his hand emerges with the appliance.
Oh, halle-fricken-lujah! I rejoice.
Zippity-do-da. And all that.
Sure I'm glad the appliance is back, but I never thought I'd lose anything between my boobs.
P.S. Husband's appendages remain intact. He is a such a good sport and really loves me, you know. His only comment on his way back to bed was, "Next time I'll frisk you first."
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