Saving Mr.Seahorse

Dear Caden,

I see tears stream down your face this morning as you hand me your Sleepy-time Seahorse. It's definitely a Code Blue, we must act fast...we race to kitchen island and you become my surgical technician. 
"Scalpel"...you hand me the spoon. I gently scoop out Mr. Seahorse's music box.
"Surgical tape"...I'm a nurse and actually have it, so surgical tape it is. Mr. Seahorse is open on the kitchen island, it is go time.
"Forceps"...you hand me the screwdriver.
"Pacemaker"...you count 3 batteries and roll them to me. One drops to the floor, you decide to lick it and then hand it to me again. *Sigh* I suppose sterile technique isn't your forte yet, but it will have to do.
We both murmur a prayer, and close Mr. Seahorse. You hand me your napkin from breakfast with waffle pieces still stuck to it. I gratefully wipe my brow from the beaded, nervous sweat that collected there during surgery. 
Nothing happens. You stand there looking at me expectantly with worry on your face. Then you do it. You hug Mr. Seahorse and he starts singing again. The light emitting from your face says it all. Mr. Seahorse is going to make it! The final touch is your magical hugs, which cures pretty much everything. Good thing you were on call this morning with Mommy!
Whew! What a morning...only 13 hrs left of this shift!

Love,
Mommy