My day last Friday…
Woke up early, of course. As David was leaving, he let Bella in the bedroom and she promptly jumped on the bed, where Brandon and I were lounging. I was so sleepy and was really hoping he was about to take a little morning nap so I could rest too. That was not to be. I looked over at David’s side of the bed, where Bella had jumped up, and there was a huge brown smear on the sheets. I don’t know why I did what I did next because clearly it was dog poop, but I leaned over and sniffed it. Yep, dog poop. Bella at this point was laying on our blanket. I immediately shouted at her to get down and grabbed Brandon out of the bed. Think it ends here? Not even close.
I noticed Bella still had poop on her butt, despite smearing a good bit of it on our bed. So I hustled her outside and grabbed a little seat for Brandon and put him on the deck while I went to turn the hose on. Both baby and dog were extremely confused by this flurry of activity. As I turned the hose on, I realized the hose itself was in the pool with the spout on the concrete of the other side of the pool. There was something on the end of that spout. I squinted (I had on my glasses and the prescription is probably six years old, so essentially I might as well not even bother wearing them) and realized it was this rubber drain bladder for the pool. I don’t know exactly what that item does (in fact, I had to ask David the proper name for it), but I know they easily explode because I’ve seen David get angry when they burst. I had the water going at a pretty high level and in a split second all I could think was, “Oh my god, that thing is going to pop and hit my baby in the face, disfiguring him for life.” I promptly turned the knob to the left. Yes, you read that correctly–the left. In my panic, I had forgotten the age-old rule of righty-tighty, lefty-loosey. Of course, this sped up the process and POP! It sounded like a gun shot. Bella freaked out and ran for the safety of the screened-in porch. Surprisingly, the loud noise did not faze Brandon at all (nor was he disfigured in any way–the thing simply split open when it popped).
I was at my wit’s end. I yelled at Bella very sternly to come to me. Now, that upset Brandon. His face crumpled and he began to wail. I couldn’t do anything about that, though, because I had to clean Bella up. She’s not an outside dog and it was going to be very hot outside that day to boot. She very hesitantly approached me. I grabbed her by the collar and proceeded to put my thumb over the hose to make it spray out harder and gave her rear a good spraying. Brandon stopped crying and watched this scene with great interest. Bella wouldn’t stop moving and I got drenched so I took off my shirt. There I was, at a little after 8:00 in the morning, in my bra and shorts, cleaning my dog’s ass while my baby watched. I sprayed her butt until I was satisfied that it was clean (it was very hard to tell because she kept putting her enormous fluffy tail down over her butthole). I went to turn off the hose. Guess what Bella did? Promptly went and took a dump. I picked up Brandon, leaving my wet shirt outside, and went inside to clean myself up a little and, of course, to wash the sheets and blanket in scalding hot water. Bella stayed outside.
I went to check on her a little while later. She appeared to be pretty dry so I let her inside, prepared to scrutinize her butthole for any debris. I didn’t have to scrutinize. She had a turd hanging from her butthole!! I mean, what the hell? Brandon was napping, so I directed her back outside and hosed her backside down again. That turd was not budging. I couldn’t believe it. Finally I had to grab my t-shirt I’d left outside earlier, put it over my hand and grab the damn thing. It’s amazing how unbothered one is about handling poop when they have a dog and a baby.
So I never got my nap that day. Bella eventually got to come back inside. I thought to myself, “I really am getting better” because a couple of months ago, I would have lost my head. Actually, a couple of months ago, I would have probably just thrown a pillow over the poop spot and rolled over and cried. So I’m improving. I knew when I laughed about this whole thing, rather than letting it irritate me, that all this medication and therapy is really helping me. Still, I’m hoping I don’t have to be a dog bidet again anytime soon.
I took Brandon to the doctor for his three-month visit and for the second half of some vaccinations last Wednesday. He was actually supposed to go last Monday, which I realized the day after I had missed the appointment. What sort of wackadoo doctor’s office doesn’t call to remind you of an appointment?! My ob’s office starts off with an email a week before my appointment and follows up with another email the night before and an automated phone call at some point as well. They don’t mess around. And every other place I go calls if I miss or am running late (as I’ve discovered with my dentist and chiropractor). Anyway, as I was checking out, I noticed they are starting an email list for appointment reminders, which reassured me I am not the first mother to miss a well baby visit.
So. My son is huge. Enormous. 85th percentile in both height and weight, so at least he’s proportional. He weighs 15 lbs and is 24 3/4 inches long. People always express surprise when I tell them his age. Poor baby is 15 weeks old and looks like he’s ready to drive. Anyway, so no worries there. He is in perfect health and not failing to thrive in any way, clearly.
As for me, my doctor sent me for an ultrasound of my lady bits several weeks ago. Everything looked good and my hematoma is gone. Still having some pain from time to time. Actually, I would describe it more as discomfort. And it sometimes gets worse at the end of a long day, especially if I’ve been very active. It’s mostly incision pain, but I still have that weird pulling sensation in my gut. I decided to start running again and have gone twice so far. Don’t see any reason not to do it because my tummy discomfort feels the same whether I’m walking or running. The doctor told me if I’m still having discomfort (mainly the pulling sensation I get in my belly) when Brandon is six months old, then I need to come back in and they might have to go in laparoscopically to see if I have any adhesions. Then she used the word “bowel” in the same sentence and I sort of zoned out. So let’s keep our fingers crossed I start feeling normal again soon and don’t have to ever hear the words “bowel” and “adhesions” in the same sentence again. Anyway, so no ob visits for a while and hopefully not until my next annual checkup!
Here is a picture of my big baby taken a few days ago. Sorry, I have none of my incision or any screen caps of my pelvic ultrasound. I know, I know–such a disappointment for my readers.
This is a term I picked up from Adam Carolla, someone I tend to quote quite a bit. I see eye to eye with him on a lot of things (from what I’ve gathered via his podcasts and book) and we have a lot of the same pet peeves, etc. Anyway, a good example of a white people problem is something like: “I’m really pissed off the air conditioning in my Bentley went out. It’s going to cost me over $1000 to fix.”
I realized today, as I was laying by my pool, listening to a podcast and smoking a cigarette, that I have white people problems. Clearly, I am nowhere near the Bentley scenario league, but I do have it pretty good (despite that dark bad luck streak that does pop up quite often). Even my bad luck isn’t ever totally terrible. Let’s examine this using a few examples of my past/ongoing “hardships”:
I’ve been in two head-on collisions. (Who gives a shit? Everyone involved lived.)
A crazed man tried to break in my house when David was out of town. (I lived.)
I was laid off twice in one year. (I ultimately started working part-time from home and don’t have to go back to work full-time because my very hardworking husband knows I want to stay at home with our baby. Am I wearing Chanel and Prada? No, but I am still able to afford Ann Taylor Loft, Gap and the like, and that’s good enough for me.)
My favorite cat died. (Pets die. I got to spend 12 wonderful years with her.)
Someone stole my car. (At least I had a car to steal. It was recovered and repaired because I am lucky enough to be able to afford insurance for my car. And did I mention this car is paid off?)
I had a terrible labor and birth experience. (Poor me. I was able to get pregnant very easily, had an easy pregnancy for the most part and ended up with a healthy, beautiful baby.)
My recovery from my section was awful and extremely painful and I’m still dealing with it. (See above.)
I am overweight and don’t feel like I am half as pretty as I once was. (At my most recent physical, I was completely healthy. I’m working on the weight thing. And well, nobody stays pretty forever, I guess. As I said, I’m healthy and not completely hideous. I’m not going to look like I did in my 20s forever.)
Instead of instantly being a great mommy, I fell into a deep postpartum depression and struggle with it every day. (I have great health insurance that allows me to see a therapist once a week and afford antidepressants, etc. More importantly, I have an incredibly supportive husband.)
I could go on and on. Anyway, this blog is more for myself than it is anyone else. I have to remind myself (even though I loathe putting things into perspective) constantly that these are incredibly lucky problems to have. That my “bad luck” could be so much worse. So yeah, I have white people problems. Living in an air-conditioned home in a nice neighborhood with my sweet little family and pets? Again, poor, poor me.*
Today, a PostSecret entry really hit home with me. In fact, it’s sort of what prompted me to write this entry:
*Don’t get too comfortable with this Pollyanna entry. I’ll be back to my cynical self in no time, truly believing everything is the worst.