A few months ago our dogs were our babies. I genuinely worried if I would love the baby as much as I loved the precious animals.
Newsflash! I love the human baby exponentially more than the pups. I still love the dogs. I just don’t like them all the time.
They have the worst timing, ever. They always seem to need to go out as soon as I sit down to feed the baby. Or they’ll spot the neighbor’s cat outside and go apeshit right after I get him to take a nap. Or a rabbit! Or some deer! Have I mentioned our house backs up to the forrest? Yeah, it happens all day, every day. Sometimes halfway through the next feeding, one if them will trot on over a vomit at my feet.
I will say, they’re good around the baby (we play a lot on the floor right now, so that’s important) so I can’t complain too much. Everyone is safely coexisting, and that’s all that matters, right?
This morning. Oh this morning. A comedy of errors you guys.
I sit down to feed the baby, who is extremely fussy lately. Like, if some teeth don’t pop out of him soon, I will be shocked and might be in need of an exorcist.
So I sit down to feed him, and the little dog is behind me in the front bay window and starts barking at some one walking by, or a bird, or nothing because he’s out to get me at this point. So Gus is distracted. Then I hear the sounds of scratching and tearing coming from the back room, where the big dog is.
Great. Is she destroying something? Did some wee animal get in, and now I’ll have to deal with it’s murdered little body? So I pick up the still eating baby and walk back to check it out.
She’d somehow found a piece of her bag of food (which Mike opened this morning) and ripped it to shreds.
Now the little dog is howling at something out front, and the big one is running away from me so I can’t tell her how bad she is.
I need to clean up the mess, and I decide I want to corral the dogs into the back room and kitchen so the baby can eat, sleep and play in peace and I don’t have to look at their sweet stupid faces.
So Gus goes into the Pack n’ Play which he tolerates only because he’s recently eaten.
I spend the next five minutes trying to trap the dogs in the back room. I’d get one in and the other would escape. I finally trap the big one, and the little one is afraid to walk into the foyer and past the baby gate, because he’s afraid of ev.ery.thing. You can’t grab him, or move too fast or yell, because he’ll just respond by peeing everywhere. So I coax him into the room with the promise of a treat.
I do all of this with my boob hanging out, and a nipple shield stuck to my skin.
I clean up the mess, I get the dogs some treats. Gus starts crying.
I realize the (clear!) nipple shield has fallen off somewhere on the first floor of the house.
I need to find it so I can wash it so I can feed the now screaming baby.
So, of course, the doorbell rings.
I figure it’s just UPS or something and ignore it. But it keeps ringing.
Howling dogs. Screaming baby. Someone waiting impatiently at the door. Boob still out.
It’s BGE here to upgrade my gas meter. Great. Go to town.
I found the shield and we’re back in business. Gus has (temporarily at least) stopped crying and fallen asleep. So have the dogs.
I love it when everyone is sleeping.