By Barbara Falconer Newhall
Peter’s fine. His appendix was twice the size of normal, but it’s gone for good. He’s still groggy from the anesthetic, but looking forward to his beef broth and cranberry juice.
I couldn’t be there, but Emily’s parents were. And there were lots of phone calls back and forth all day.
Now that Peter is safe and sound, I’m exhausted. Mothering from afar is hard work.
