Last night, post bath/and pre highly choreographed "I not tired/I don't want to go to bed/I'm hungry/thirsty" dance begins... we were hanging out in our bedroom with the clean, silly sisters.
My favorite time of day.
Dad is home. Both are going nuts. Just how I like 'em.
Ella is racing around the room winning an imaginary race. Alice is walking on her head. Then showing us her nose. "Where is your nose, Allie?" Points to her nose, then my nose, then Mike's nose...
Okay. Let's try something new.
"Where's your belly?"
"Show me your belly."
She crawls her chubby little body over to this. Twice. And pounds her on the back.
Her belly. AnnaBELLE. Whom we mostly call "Belly".
Normally, that would rate as an "Awww. That's so cute" reaction from me.
But, last night, the night before Annabelle's second cancer surgery, it broke me.
All day long today, it was like I was watching a loop of "Marley and Me", "Old Yeller" and "My Dog Skip".
My 22nd birthday present is now a 107 lb.,11 year old Golden Retriever with 2 tumors, a "foreign body" in her stomach (No clue as to what she ate this time. My $$ is on a super ball.) and a rescheduled surgery for Monday.
I have always known that she wasn't going to live forever, but the reality of her getting older,slowing down and now getting sick is tough. Tougher than I thought. But, hopefully, not tougher than Allie's Belly.