Scarey Thoughts

A year ago I was pregnant and wondering "Will I like having a baby? Will I regret giving up the good life for a life of baby puke and poopy diapers? Will I miss my selfish ways or worse yet will I carry on with my selfish ways and be overwhelmed by guilt for being a bad mom?" Well, a year later I am continually shocked and amazed at how natural and easy it is to love my baby. I know it is so cliche but I truly is the greatest thing I can imagine having happened. Now those thoughts are replaced by the fear of going back to that life I had "What if something happened to her? What if she were kidnapped, sick, or harmed in some way? Would I be able to handle it?" The possibility is far too scarey to consider seriously. So I guess that means, no I don't want my old life back because that would mean no Mayson. As for that guilt, yeah even though I have given up my selfish ways, moms automatically do and don't even think about it, the guilt is just part of the package. Do I give my kid too much Tylenol? Do I feed her too much pepperoni and not enough green beans? Should I be more strict about bedtime? Should I read to her more? Should I not watch "The View" when she's around because it may warp her little mind? Should I watch more Baby Einstein? Would I be a bad mom if I knowingly didn't change her pants when I know a little pee leaked out of her diaper onto her pants? You know what I mean. But when she shows me all that she has learned in these past 11 1/2 months, I know I must be doing okay. When I think about how insane I would go if something happened to her, I know I love her enough to make up for all those questions that I don't have answers for and I know I should let the guilt slide, because I do my best, as all of us mother's do. And we should know that that is enough. That's my mind-babble for tonight.

Raining Craps and Dogs

Dear Chiantra,

I lovely you dearly little one but sometimes I don't understand how your little pea-brain works. How can you love water to swim in, to wade in, to play in any tiny puddle but hate it when it falls from the sky? Why do you hate water falling from the sky SO much that you refuse to go outside to go to the bathroom? Do you know how unpleasant it is to come downstairs at four in the morning to find a big pile of dog poo at the back door? WHY don't you just go out and poo when I offer it, EVEN THOUGH it is raining???? How can rain really offend you that much? You have fur that repels water for god's sake!! You will swim when it is minus 20 outside!! What the hell were you thinking?! I am trying very hard to restrain myself from using that phrase that no parent should ever use but....I just have to ask - why can't you be more like your brother? At least when Kusa plays his little head games like "ooh, I can't go outside in the yard to pee because there is a scarey umbrella out there" or "Ugh, I really need to take a dump but I am very scared of that medium sized cardboard box out there" he has the ability to HOLD IT until he forgets his paranoia or decides to brave it. At least he doesn't do the unthinkable. Anyway, I just wasn't impressed that you crapped on the floor that night.

Sincerely,

Your loving mother

Dear Mother,

Kusa is a braindead idiot who is afraid of children's toys and clouds. Do you really want me to be more like him? And furthermore, it is Kusa's job to bark when I need to go to the bathroom which he was too lazy to do that night so this is really his fault. And finally, it's just poo honestly. At least that way I didn't have to get my feet wet and leave paw prints on the tile floor, I really was thinking of you.

Sincerely,

Your loving daughter (aka, The Bitch)

Bitch food

Chiantra's total for the past week:

• 1/2 loaf of bread
• 1 container mini-human snacks
• 1/3 cup of chopped fruit off cutting board while mom changed mini-human's diaper
• emptied diaper bag once with no reward
• emptied visitor purse once with no reward
• dug through one garbage with little reward

It's been a slow week. I heard mom saying something about having to be smarter than the dog, HA, HA, HA! Who does she think she is?? Just leave the snacks in my kennel and save yourself the pain of making me tear through those zippers or pocket linings of your jackets and then you will be getting closer my level of intelligence lady!

Poopy Daze

I was wondering the other day how many hours a week I spend dealing with poo. Let's see, taking into account Mayson pooing about once per day on average (diaper change taking about 5-7 minutes including redressing and disposal), scooping dog poo at least once a week taking 30-45 minutes, scooping two litter boxes (which miraculously, my husband seems to have completely forgotten that they exist even though he was solely responsible while I was pregnant, grrrrr), and my own poos (which I won't discuss in detail but let's just say no major issues there) I think I can safely estimate 2 hours a week. Not as impressive a number as it seems as when I am slaving out in the dog run in the hot sun for 45 minutes scooping while the dogs watch from their lounge chairs in the shade on the deck drinking margaritas then hearing baby wake on the monitor and going to her crib to find a leaking diaper all up her back. At times like those it seems more like 20 hours I week I spend dealing with poo. Not that I've had a "crappy" week (ooh, I do hate puns but just couldn't resist that one) but just something I was thinking of...while picking up poo.

Mid-night madness

Chiantra's total for the past four days:
-1 ziploc bag of powdered baby formula
-1 box of Baby MumMum crackers, foil packages included
-1 tube of concealer

Let me tell you what happens when a dog eats a bag of powdered baby formula. First of all, formula is very sticky so when mom comes down at 5 am to make a bottle for crying baby she wonders not only why Chiantra is skulking guilt ridden by the front door but also why her feet seem to have resistance when lifting them to put one in front of the other on her way to the kitchen. Am I just so tired that it is seeming hard to walk or...wait there is a more granular feeling to the tile floor than would seem normal.
"Hmmm, damn dog, what did you do now? Who cares I will find out in the morning"
But as I round the corner to the kitchen and see the glittering of foil wrappers in a trail leading to the dog bed Iknow. "Not the brand new box of MumMums!"
And there in the bed, lying amid the shrapnel, completely oblivious and fast asleep is Kusa. Obviously not the guilty one or he would be running to hide his sorry self when he saw me. He just laid there wondering why I was staring at him with that evil look in my eye. You see, a dog will announce his guilt, you never have to wonder. That is why when I went over to the front door to confront the bitch, as we so lovingly refer to her at times, I knew I was going to be beating on the right dog. Yes I knew because of that guilty look in her eye, the tail hanging, her not wanting to face the scene of the crime and thus hiding out as far away as possible. My finely tuned dog detective senses were confirmed by the fact that all the fur on her face was caked into one white hardened clump. So yes, there are multiple ways to find the guilty culprit even in the dark of the early morning.
It wasn't until later that I found the empty ziploc bag and my husband went to use the toilet later that morning that we realized one gets very thirsty when eating enough formula powder to make a few litres of milk. So Chiantra made her own milk, reconstituted in vitro with eau de toilette, and then a few hours later made another kind of milk on the sidewalk right in front of someone's house. Projectile pooh is hard to dodge while jogging but I am skilled with the stealth of a cat. What I am not so skilled at is picking up liquid with my hand wrapped in a plastic grocery bag. So sorry dear neighbors.