Lately, sentences such as "Maybe Daddy can do it," responses like "Because I need to," and double-barrelled sentiments the like of "I want to open it so I can drink it" have become so commonplace that I've almost stopped noticing that my not-yet-2-year-old (22 months next Saturday, people) is conversing like an old hand. One day while we were away I offered her a pencil to draw with. She looked up at me calculatingly and said: "How...how...how..." I knew something new was on the way. "How about a pen?"
Oh boy. I've just looked at the forecast and noticed that after a week of 90-somethings, Saturday's forecast high is 77F. I will be all over that - especially as I'll be (wo)manning the school's booth at the Labor Day Festival from 1 to 3 that day. I really hope it's still true by then.
On Sunday morning, as we were being magically transported cafe-wards on the divine escalator of those who worship at IKEA, I noted that my glasses were so scratched (only from repeatedly cleaning them on my t-shirt, not putting them down face-first on tables or throwing them in with fighting cats) that I should probably just get laser surgery. I wasn't entirely serious, but on the other hand it has to happen sometime. I've always thought I'd do it eventually, when the price came down and the procedure was better, and maybe we're there.
At some point it becomes economical to spend the money in one fell swoop instead of replacing expensive glasses every few years, not to mention the incidental expense of contact lenses that I hardly ever wear. (Since moving to the US I've found it more and more difficult to wear my lenses, even when I have the wateriest kind available. Either the climate here is too dry, or maybe I've just worn them for too long. I did well out of contact lenses for all of my 20s, when my ego and I needed them most, but they don't really work for me any more.)
And in a way, now that it's no longer about vanity, I think maybe I could let myself do it. (Vanity is the wrong word there. It's not that I spent hours in front of the mirror thinking about how great I looked. I spent hours in front of the mirror trying on everything I owned and going back to the one I'd started out with in an attempt to look reasonably nice. Just like every other girl does.) But nowadays there's no time to look in the mirror. The door it hangs on swings wide before I've caught a glance, and I have other things to do. If I don't have poppy seeds stuck between my teeth and if any visible stains on my t-shirt might plausibly have been made after I put it on this morning, then I'm probably good to go. I'm only going to the playground anyway. I almost like my glasses these days because they hide my wrinkles - at least from me. Without them my face feels a little naked.
Looking at our insurance, I might be able to do it for as little as $850 per eye. At this point, the longer I wait the less economical it gets, if I just keep buying new glasses instead. But part of me, though not usually icked out by medical things, can't help being a tad ooged by the clockwork-oranginess of the idea of having my eyelids pronged open while they slice bits of my cornea open and fire lasers at me. (Fine: (a) I haven't read the book, and (b) I know that they don't have to slice the cornea, necessarily. Leave me to my literary hyperbole, please, even if it's inaccurate.) And there can be side effects, and sometimes it just doesn't work, and heck, I only have one pair of eyes, and they're crap, but you know I can forget about that most of the time. Maybe it's not worth it just to not have to look through a faint blur of scratches all day.
Anyone out there care to weigh in? Should I do it?