Babies

The Elmo on the Shelf

A baby, two jealous bulldogs and an annoying Sesame Street character. It sounds like the beginning of some really lame joke, but it’s actually our very own, brand new Christmas tradition called The Elmo on the Shelf.

Like The Elf on the Shelf, Elmo on the Shelf is also a thing that sits on a shelf of some sort. Except our tradition started after Christmas, is not at all magical and you only move it when the bulldogs find it.

So, we just celebrated our first Christmas as parents with our 10-month old daughter.  She was elated to find a small Elmo in with her Christmas presents, her favorite Sesame Street character. Elmo immediately became her favorite Christmas toy out of the bunch. Christmas was all about her hugging him, burying her face in his and doing that nails-on-the-chalkboard shrieking thing she does when she’s happy.

You know who else was excited about that little red Elmo? Mack.

At 14 years old, Mackie has a touch of the Doggie Dementia, which means his behavior is starting to revert back to a puppy-like stage. Which also means that Mack is not above stealing a prize Christmas toy away from an unsuspecting infant, for the sole purpose of ripping Elmo’s little head right off, purely for sport.

While Hubs and I were preparing a Christmas dinner for my mother (who was not at all thrilled at having someone else host Christmas for the first time in 25 years) I was also busy trying to gently wrestle Elmo (don’t want to tear it!) out of Mackie’s mouth. I tried coaxing Mack with treats, blowing in his face, flicking his nose, trying to pry open his jaws, all while hearing the tiny threads of Elmo’s legs pop one by one. Eventually he dropped it once it became a team effort of Hubs and I sticking our fingers in his mouth and screaming obscenities at him (all the while my oblivious mother was clamoring on about what time we should eat dinner next Christmas at her house, a year from now).

After that scenario replayed itself a few more times, Elmo got a Christmas bath in the washing machine, Mack was separated from the baby toys and I cracked open a new bottle of wine.

The next day or so we paid extra attention to make sure that Mack didn’t get a hold of Elmo, coming close several times. Just when it seemed that Mack had given up on Elmo, here comes Peterbilt trotting into the family room with Elmo in his mouth, ready to curl up in front of the fireplace to disembowel that poor, now slightly tattered, red muppet.

And that is how Elmo on the Shelf was born.

Elmo’s been sitting above our fireplace now for the last 48 hours. Fortunately for our daughter, she’s young enough where once something is out of sight, it’s out of mind as well. Not so much for the bulldogs, who have been looking woefully at our fireplace. Until we figure out how to keep those cold, calculating, murderous bulldogs from torturing a baby toy, Elmo is going into witness protection as an Elf on a Shelf.

 

 

Categories: Babies, Bulldogs, Crappy Adulthood Problems, Dogs, Farts, Funny, Old People, Pets | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

Love Triangle

OK, not a triangle exactly. Maybe a square. Or a pentagon. But either way, shit is going down in a polygon kind of way.

The addition of a baby to our family has been the equivalent of taking an ant farm and shaking the living shit out of it. With schedules, restful sleep, meal times (and blogging times) disrupted, we didn’t know which way was up. Now, 9 months later, the little ants of the family have picked up the pieces and finally have some normalcy again. However, the pecking order has changed.

The pattern has been emerging over the last few weeks. It goes something like this: Me <- Peterbilt <-Peanut <-Mack <- Hubs.

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Actually, that diagram is only representative of us on our best days. Or best day. Meaning that one Wednesday a month ago where we were a well-oiled machine for like 2 hours. Most days it’s just me leading a farty, 4-legged parade throughout the house while I cook and clean and Hubs is over there somewhere on his iPhone:

blogpic2Nov2015_edited-1

Okay. So maybe it’s a shape. More like a line segment. Or a bulldog-baby conga line. Either way, this is how it works. Starting from the bottom:

Mack loves Baby Peanut: Mack doesn’t move around much. He’s old. However, that dog can still bust a move for a tiny, single baby puff, stuck to the ass of a crawling infant.

Mmm mmm. Ass-puffs.

Ever since Mack rearranged our kitchen table and chair set over a small noodle, carelessly tossed by a crabby infant from her high chair, Mack has been banned from the kitchen during Peanut’s feeding times. Now, the highlight of Mack’s day is tracking that squirrely little girl down after meal times and giving her a good ol’ thorough lick down, eating those stuck-on pieces of food straight off of her fanny. And they way that kid smears food all over herself, it’s like a tiny, mobile butt buffet cruising through our house, just ASKING to be nibbled. At least, that’s how Mack put it. At first, Peanut found these bulldog cleaning sessions delightful and hilarious but now in their frequency, they’re annoying and intrusive. The minute that high chair tray comes off, Mack comes barreling out of nowhere like some young and spry 10 year old bulldog. And the unwanted licking advances ensue.

Peanut loves Peterbilt: Babies always want what they can’t have. Mack is the dog that is always available for her to climb, pull his ears and touch his paws, when he’s not forcefully licking her face. Peterbilt, on the other hand, doesn’t put up with ANY of that baby grabass shit and tends to keep his distance from the baby. And that makes Peter all the more enticing to a curious 9-month old.

While Mack spends his non-eating hours laying around, Peterbilt is still young enough to have daily bursts of energy. Much like cats getting ‘the zips’ once a day, Peter does funny things like races through the house on hardwood floors, bumps into furniture, spins, twirls, leaps and shakes his toys….much to Peanut’s delight. She squeals with excitement if he actually stops to acknowledge and sniff her. She watches in admiration as Peter does his best Whip-Nae-Nae (I’ve seen it. It sucks).

Peanut is the only living thing on this planet who thinks Peterbilt is cool and most of her time is spent trying to get on Peter’s good side.

Peterbilt loves me: Meanwhile, Peterbilt spends his time trying to get on my good side.

A year ago, Peter was the type of dog that tolerated my hugs and kisses at best. He’d grunt with annoyance if I tried to snuggle with him. Now that his ‘mom’ is a mom to another, more high-maintenance member of the family, Peter has changed his tune. He’s now constanly on my heals; stealing kisses, hugs, snuggles and nuzzles from me while I’m down on the floor with the baby. He’s also been getting in the habit of laying ON me on those rare occasions I get to lay on the couch. That’s 91 lbs on top of 112 lbs. He’s not exactly a dachshund.

Most recently, he’s taken to licking and being nice to Peanut, just for the praise and kisses he receives from me in response.

And I love….uh…: Mostly I just look at the clock to see if I can start drinking wine.

So here’s an example of how this works: I was playing with Peanut in our family room one evening, before dinner. I opened my arms, knelt down and called Peanut over. Peanut smiled, squeaked and started to crawl over but before she could get to me, Peterbilt walked into my open arms and turned his ass towards my face for a butt-scratch.

Peanut, seeing Peterbilt in my arms, races over.

Mack then follows that tiny, graham cracker flavored cherub.

So it ends up looking like this:

comictiles1

So, as you can imagine, household chores get kind of …..crowded:

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Untitled-1 copy

That’s right. Multiple bodies packed into a 8 square foot area. Everyone with their smells. I found myself relishing my commute to work as it’s the only time of day I’m was myself.

Then one day the in-laws decided to babysit Peanut overnight. Ready for a break, I had her packed up and ready in record time. They came and left. Now was time for a celebration! Kid free adult time!

Hubs and I went out for dinner early and came home. I was leisurely putting away laundry (yes, even baby-free time is still full of chores) and I noticed how eerily quiet it is. Just one link of the chain was missing and everything was different. Peterbilt, no longer competing for attention, was sleeping on the couch. Mack, with no baby butts to lick, was sleeping on the area rug. I was by myself. And although the peace and quiet was nice, it was also rather boring.

It made me count my blessings. Although I’m always followed by a crowd of knee-high animals, I am needed and loved. And with Mack’s limited time left on earth, I now try and take snapshots with my mind so years from now, I can remember clearly when the time when it was just me, my husband, my baby girl and my two crazy bulldogs in our Minnesota home. I may feel pulled in all directions at once now, but one day, I know I’ll give anything just to relive one of these hectic, fart-filled days.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Categories: Babies, Being Married, Bulldogs, Crappy Adulthood Problems, Dogs, Farts, Funny, Pets, Potty Humor | 4 Comments

Second Fiddle

Having an infant in the house has brought forth a lot of changes. Out of everyone at Casa del Fartos, I’d say that as a mom, I’ve naturally had my world turned upside down more than anyone else. Baby cries? Everyone hands a crying baby to Mom. Baby sick? Mom is the one up with her all night, rocking her. Baby not going to sleep after being rocked for an hour? I’m the one sleeping in the rocking chair with her, as she gleefully whispers “Ahhh! Ahhh!” and plays with my face at 3AM. This is the definition of a sleepover when you’re 5 months old.

My husband and Mack would agree with me: Hubs, because admitting that I have it hardest is still easier than having to get up every night to feed the baby and Mack…..well, it’s not that he agrees, it’s just things really haven’t changed much for him. He laid around the house farting before the baby and continues to lay around the house farting now. “Oh, you had a baby? Right on. (ppppffftt).”

Peterbilt, however, would argue that his quality of life has gone down the shitter now that the baby absorbs our time, energy and attention.

Like most couples, you get a dog because you like dogs, you fully intend to take care of a dog and it’s good training for when you have kids, with all of the poo and vomit and eating of the vomit……wait……

And like most couples, we knew that getting a dog would mean that one day, this dog would take a backseat to future babies and kids. After all, if everyone who bought a dog didn’t have kids in fear of hurting their dog’s feelings, the human race would pretty much be wrapping shit up in a matter of generations. You just expect your dog will adjust to it eventually and just be happy with the larger family. Except that we picked out a Peterbilt, the most emo of all bulldogs.

It tugs at my conscience to see this bored, mopey looking bulldog sulking on our couch because now I only speak to him when I’m whisper-yelling “NO BARKING! BABY IS SLEEPING!” at him, usually followed up by me grumbling his eternal damnation when I hear the baby is awake in her crib.

So my days now go something like this: I get home from work and my husband is already there with Baby Peanut. I walk in the door, both bulldogs come to greet me. Then, Peter tears ass to his basket of toys, usually pulling out a rope to play with, and runs to me to play with him. This has always been this way; something about mom coming home that makes this dog’s heart sing.

I grab onto his toy and we play tug of war and catch a few times. Then Hubs comes at me holding out a wiggly baby, who’s reaching out for me. I drop the dog toy, take the baby, and Peter is left standing there with a look on his face that screams, “God DAMMIT!”

Playtime isn’t the only facet of Peter’s life that has taken a proverbial dump. Even his walks have turned to suck. Although I have now mastered walking with a baby stroller and a 90 lb clown on four legs, Peterbilt really wants to walk on wooded paths and terrain that isn’t easily navigable with a stroller. So he’s left to just doing that same old boring walk around the block at a snail’s pace with me and the stroller.

At home, when I’m on the floor trying to entertain an infant with one hand and playing with my iPhone in the other, I will catch Peter out of the corner of my eye, gloomily looking over, wishing he could play with his Mom. After all, I was his Mom first. Stupid baby and her awesome toys.

Meanwhile, baby is really getting good at her army crawl and is so excited to see and touch everything in sight, including the bulldogs. She’s their biggest fan.

Mack conflicted by his love for Peanut and his hate of having his paws touched.

Mack conflicted by his love for Peanut and his hate of having his paws touched.

While Mack is more than willing to let the baby pull at his ears and grab at his face (which I can tell you from experience, is quite painful), Peter will grumble and walk away when the baby touches his face, collapsing into his nearby dog bed with a heavy sigh.

Going through my pictures the other day, I was surprised at the amount of Peterbilt photobombs. For a dog who used to just HATE it when I took pictures of him, he now photobombs baby pictures in an attempt to get any kind of attention. “Look at me, everybody! I’m that cute, precocious bulldog with all of the health problems, remember? I eat left shoes? What did I get into now, right?!?!” Poor guy.

See the baby legs in the background?

See the baby legs in the background?

The following night, after two glasses of wine, I sat outside in a lawn chair despairing over Peterbilt’s quality of life. “What happens if he never grows to like Peanut? What about when we have more kids and even less time on our hands? Will we ever be able to provide this dog with the proper exercise, love and attention that he needs? Is this just temporary? God, I’m such a dick.” I walked over to Peterbilt, laying on his dog bed and gave him a hug. He grunted.

The next morning, the in-laws showed up to take our Peanut and spend a day doting on her with grandparenty love at their house. When I came home from work that afternoon, I was the first one home, for once. I fed the bulldogs, let them out and soon after Hubs showed up.

In laws texted me apologizing that they were going to be an hour late dropping Peanut off. I replied “DON’T APOLOGIZE.” Do you have any idea how much stuff I got done??!?! Do you know how hard it is to vacuum your house when you have a baby? There’s never a good time for that when the baby’s around.

Once they did arrive, they brought in Peanut in in her car seat, dropped her off in our kitchen, waved goodbye and took off right away. Peterbilt ran right over to Peanut, slobbered her face with kisses and ran to his toy basket to get that same rope. There he went, running all over the house, leaping and spinning. He ran to me with the rope in his mouth, stopped and went into a play bow.

“Well, shit.” I thought. So it wasn’t me coming home that made him happy after all. What made him happy was the pack being complete and totally accounted for. Peanut was the last member to arrive home and now that everyone was here, it was time to celebrate and play.

I did Peterbilt one better and took him outside in the backyard to play frisbee until he collapsed in exhaustion the cool, green grass. That is all any dog wants: to be exhausted.

I learned that even though Peterbilt still isn’t crazy about the change in our family dynamics, he still loves lil’ Peanut. It’s going to take some extra work (and caffeine) on my end to make sure Peter gets his time everyday. Hopefully, Peanut and Peterbilt will grow to be good friends.

 

Categories: Babies, Bulldogs, Dogs, Farts, Funny, Pets | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

Really??? REALLY????

I woke up on Sunday morning fully expecting the day to be uneventful and secretly hoping to get a nap in at some point.

It certainely seemed to start off normal: I woke up around 8 AM to Mack sneezing in my face, his head eagerly perched on the edge of my bed with his nub wagging, hoping to get his breakfast. I got up, let Peterbilt and Mack outside to do their business. They both took their wizzes as fast as they could and raced back to the back door. I quickly opened the sliding glass door as they clamored over each other to be the first one in, both running to the refrigerator where we keep the dog food. That scene in Christmas Story played in my head where that gang of multiple, neighborhood mutts stampede into Ralphie’s kitchen and devour their Christmas turkey.  And Ralphy’s old man though he had problems…the next few minutes would prove his ornery ass WRONG.

Preparing the dog food, I spilled some of the kibble on the floor. This started WW3 between the hungry bulldogs as they growled and fought for their share. I started to yell at both dogs, mostly Peterbilt since he’s the bigger asshole of the two, and my husband ran into the kitchen and dove into the pile. Peter started to run off, with my husband chasing him down. Peter did a quick turn and my husband rolled his ankle. All we heard was a SNAP and him collapsing to the floor in pain, howling.

I ran over to assess the situation. Both bulldogs, over their food rage and clearly feeling guilty, shifted and paced nervously by my husband, who was holding his left foot and rolling around on the floor. Peterbilt even doused my husbands face in a few, sloppy, submissive kisses.

I helped Hubs back to our room, elevated his foot and grabbed an ice pack. The bulldogs hovered over him like nervous, untrained nurses, sniffing and resniffing my husband. Eventually within 5 minutes, things calmed down and they both forgot my husband was injured, going back to their default task of hovering around the pregnant lady. Sorry Hubs. It’s time to play second fiddle again.

After an hour, we decided to take my Hubs into urgent care where we waited 2 hours, surrounded by people with the flu, to be told what we already knew: a broken ankle bone.

Hubs is to wear a brace, use crutches and not put any weight on his left foot for 6-8 weeks.

Baby’s due date is in 2 weeks.

My doctor told me 1 week ago that she doesn’t want me on my feet as much because of the swelling in my legs and ankles.

Hubs started graduate school 2 weeks ago.

Great job everyone and a big thank you, Peterbilt, you fucking assclown. This couldn’t be timed anymore perfectly.

Do you know that bulldogs don’t care if you’re tired or injured? Even when said injury is a direct result of their misbehavior? Nope, much like small children, they want what they want and they want it NOW!

Why am I suddenly not getting walks?!?!?!

Why am I suddenly not getting walks?!?!?!

So now instead of spending my Sunday napping and assembling last minute baby gear, I’m on my feet, letting a belligerent, senile old bulldog outside before he revenge pees the kitchen rug, keeping the bone-snapping-ankle-crushing-maniac-bulldog from humping my maternity body pillow AGAIN and refilling Hub’s glass of juice for the third time.

A couple of very unlucky, Century link sales reps came knocking at our front door not to long after that and let’s just say…..they have probably black listed our address from all future sales calls. I’m the Bitch from Hell in the Tan house. Don’t go there.

So now I’ve got a needy husband, two shrieking bulldogs and baby girl is finding new and painful nooks and crannies to stick her legs into. And then there’s me, looking at the calendar and counting down the days until I can drink white wine again.

Grumpy and tired, I went to bed around 10 PM. As I’m drifting off, Hubs started to laugh. Laughing so hard he’s shaking the bed. “What.”, I said.

Hubs said to me, “I just love so you much.”

“Why?”, I asked.

He laughed ever harder and managed to compose himself after a while to say, “Because your fucking awesome! Here you are: full-term pregnant, taking care of my ass while I snap at you because I’m in pain, Mack’s shrieking for his Kong

Now, woman!

Now, woman!

and Peterbilt’s…..well…being Peterbilt…… and your still keeping this family glued together!”

Well now thanks a lot, Hubs. Because now I’m crying. Again.

February is going to be interesting.

Categories: Babies, Bulldogs, Crappy Adulthood Problems, Dogs, Pets, Pregnancy | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Pregnancy and Bulldogs

Help! I’ve been overcome by a team of midwife bulldogs.

I can’t do anything in my own house anymore without being watched by at least one set of brown, bloodshot eyes. I’m being constantly monitored by anxious bulldogs and although they are well intentioned, they are truly clueless.

As I enter my 8th month of pregnancy, I have found my energy starting to wane. A month ago I could work a 10 hour day and come home and still have enough energy to make dinner, dishes, do 3 loads of laundry, walk the dogs, put away 3 loads of laundry and stay fully awake for an episode of Game of Throne (Hodor!). Now, when I get home from work, I enter the house like someone just dumped me out of a wheel barrow. I make grunting noises when I take off my now too-small shoes. I waddle. I’m usually short of breath. I start wearing my ever-so-comfortable maternity sweatpants at 6 PM. I chant, “BOOM! Ba-ba!” with every step I make. I’m definitely slowing down.

The bulldogs have taken notice of this. The bulldogs are concerned. And now every single thing I do in the house is a fucking family affair.

This week, the bulldogs have come to the conclusion that I need an assistant with everything I do. For example, almost every morning for the past week, as I stared blurry-eyed into my closet, trying to piece together a reasonable outfit for work, Mack stood by my side, also peering into my closet, staring at my clothes with me, pretending like he knew what he was doing.

The  other morning, the whole fam damily was in the bathroom as I showered, including a half-asleep Hubs, trying to brush his teeth around two bulldogs laying on the bath mats, who were anxiously awaiting my grand exit from the shower. I contemplated ripping open the shower curtain with incredible zeal and doing my best sarcastic and naked “Ta Da!”, complete with jazz fingers for my audience. But eh, I didn’t. When I did open the curtain, they both averted their eyes. Peterbilt pretended to inspect the towel racks. Mack licked the side of the tub. My pregnant body is apparently too extreme for bulldogs.

Oh, but that’s not all.

Mack spends every waking moment tracking my whereabouts around the house. From the moment I get home from work, he’s following me around. When he loses track of me (which happens quite often with an almost deaf, 13yo bulldog) I can hear him looking for me, his toenails clacking on the hardwood floors, as he checks the kitchen, the office, then the bathroom and finally the bedroom where I’m laying in bed, getting my ugly eat on with a bucket mini brownies, watching back to back episodes of Restaurant Impossible on Netflix. There’s a lot of ugly they don’t tell you about before you get pregnant.

Peterbilt also wants constant tabs on my whereabouts and even puts my well-being ahead of his food, surprisingly.

The other day, the Hubs and I switched vehicles so he could take my Jeep in for an oil change. When Hubs got home, Peterbilt excitedly circled the Jeep numerous times in the garage, expecting my pregnant ass to roll and plop out of the SUV. Hubs said Pete was inconsolable for like 10 minutes and thoroughly inspected the Jeep and the garage until he finally gave up. All of this before he had a chance to be eat his beloved dinner.

It all started off very sweet but now it’s starting to be a burden. And it gets only worse as time goes by and my belly gets bigger.

In the past month or so, Mack has gone from sleeping downstairs on his beloved couch, to sleeping on a dog bed in the baby’s room, with a baby gate at the door, to now sleeping on the floor of our bedroom. Any attempt to separate him from me is met with loud, constant, belligerent, barking. And I can already tell where this is headed: he will want to sleep on our bed next. So I can get even less sleep.

Have you ever woken up to an audible bulldog fart at 3AM? It’s not funny. It’s not funny at all, actually. No, it’s putrid and the stench will rouse both Hubs and I from the deepest slumber, especially when that fart only has to travel 18 inches to get to your nose because Mack faces the door when he sleeps on the bed. Ass-to-face positioning always means a more concentrated poot. It’s bad enough I already wake up to every single fucking noise this house and its occupants emit during the overnight hours, let alone one of Mack’s face-melting farts.

There isn’t one thing that I’m able to do without supervision anymore and the lack of privacy is getting on my nerves. I always thought that my integrity would remain intact until labor, but the bulldogs constant interruption of even the most private moments is slowly chipping away at it.

With 8 weeks until the baby is estimated to arrive, I don’t have the heart to tell them that  they will have to sit and wait at home when it’s time for me to go to the hospital. I may have to come up with some sort of lie…..or some sort of faux-Sarah decoy fashioned out of pillows for them to fuss over while I’m gone.

Categories: Babies, Bulldogs, Dogs, Farts | Tags: , , , , , | 1 Comment

Double Trouble

2014 has been the year of change at House of Farts.

Ladies and gentlemen, after 4 long and work-intensive years, Mack and Peterbilt have decided to bury the hatchet and have agreed to coexist (somewhat) peacefully on the same level/room/area of the house. That’s right, no more keeping the bulldogs separated within the house.

This was decided recently by Mack. The older and more deaf Mack gets (and the more visibly pregnant I get) Mack is finding it harder and harder to leave my side. “Ok, Ok, I concede”, Mack told me one afternoon about 2 months ago. “I’ll acknowledge Peterbilt as my son. Now let’s all lay on the area rug and lick our paws.”

Peterbilt, less than enthused about now having to split our attention with his dickhead dad, agreed to treat his dad’s now constant presence with respect.

Yay! Right?? We can have a normal-ish family again! Eh, Yes and no. As much as we are happy to have everyone get along, having 170 lbs of bulldog to deal with versus 85 lbs at a time, is a lot of work!

Over the last several weeks, Hubs and I have noticed that there are as many PROS as CONS to our new living situation.

PRO:

1.) Less Shrieking.

Having both dogs in the kitchen as I make dinner is a lot quieter than having Peterbilt in the kitchen and Mack in the finished basement, shrieking with every pang of his broken heart at his exclusion. Now both bulldogs can stand by my feet and hold their breath as I chop carrots, hoping to God that one slips off the counter and falls to the floor.

CON:

1.) Higher fart content

Having both bulldogs in close proximity means more fart air to regular air, in parts per million. Tonight, we will be serving Dijon Chicken and baby carrots with hint of fart. Just dab some Vicks under your nose, dear, It’ll be alright.

 

"We heard there were carrots..."

“We heard there were carrots…”

PRO:

2.) Bigger fan base.

Now instead of one bulldog totally devoted to following me and watching my every move, I have two. The bulldogs totally give my location away every time, no matter where I am in the house. Are the bulldogs totally quiet? That means they’re laying with me on the bed sleeping. Do you hear thunderous noises? That’s the bulldogs following (trampling) me as i go downstairs to put in another load of laundry? Two bulldogs glumly laying outside the shut bathroom door? Well, you know I’m doing then. Painting my nails. Because ladies don’t poop.

CON:

If I don’t close the bathroom door all of the way, it means now two heads are poking inside to check on me instead of just one. I get very little privacy.

The good old days of only only bulldog head.

The good old days of only only bulldog head.

 

They’ve already figured out that they have Hubs and I evenly matched with a 2:2 ratio and have used this to their advantage already, using teamwork to knock a bag of dog treats off the table and to take out a 40 lb bag of kibble, even sharing the spoils. And our bedroom has been converted into “Bulldog HQ”. They’ve taken over that room as their area of choice for gnawing on their bones, Kongs and other toys. We kick twice as many dog possessions of our of bed now and It is almost guaranteed I will stub my toe on a half-chewed up antler on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

 

We love it and are daunted by it at the same time. With the new workload, it makes me wonder how we will ever fit in time to take care of a newborn, but I guess that will all work itself out somehow.

 

In the meantime, Hubs and I thank God that he’s given us what we’ve asked for, for so long: a loving, little bulldog family. At least, that’s what we try to repeat in our heads while cleaning up 40 lbs of kibble and drool off of the floor.

Categories: Babies, Being Married, Bulldogs, Crappy Adulthood Problems, Dogs, Farts, Funny, Pets, Potty Humor, Pregnancy | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

5 things me n’ Peterbilt now have in common

And yes, I’m totally aware of the grammatical blunder that title is, but ‘Peterbilt and I’ just seemed too mature for the upcoming content of this post.

First off, let me start on a high note and announce that we found out that Baby is a girl! Myself, Hubs and the bulldogs are thrilled to be expecting a little girl. Especially me, because a girl balances things out in my favor, household-wise. Now our day-to-day life isn’t going to be so much a big, giant, wave-it-in-your-face, sausage party. Because it is now. Seriously. Put it away.

Anyways…..

5 months and halfway through my pregnancy, I’m finding out that me n’ Peterbilt have more in common than I like to admit. Pregnancy has heightened many of my senses while at the same time, taken away from others. It’s laughable because I never thought that I would have ANYTHING in common with a creature so morbid and foul, but life has a way of turning shit around on you to knock you down a few pegs. The following are 5 things we now have in common besides our address:

We tolerate each other.

We tolerate each other.

1.) We both are HIGHLY food motivated.

Peterbilt has always been, but until recently, I wasn’t. Pregnancy has amplified my appetite and now we are both transfixed by food. If it’s laying out, we want it. If we think we smell food, we want it. You can’t even talk to us while eating something, without us wanting your food. You can wave a piece of food in your hand in front of our faces and much like those darling kittens in those internet videos, you can watch me and Peterbilt turn our heads in unison together, eyes locked on the prize. If you eat said piece of food instead, you’ll get the same stunned expression out of both of us.

My boss came up to me the other day to talk about some mundane work crap, while peeling an orange:

“That orange looks really good. I really want your orange. Can I have your orange? Not asking anymore, telling. Give me the GOD DAMN ORANGE!”….

…it what was going on inside my head. Didn’t hear a damn thing he said. I though about the orange for like a hour after. I still want that fucking orange.

2.) Heightened sense of smell.

Peterbilt will tell you up and down what a blessing that is, while I’d say it is more of a curse. Peterbilt smells even worse to me now, especially his breath when he yawns in my face (which he does, ALL THE TIME) and I hold my breath when he comes in from the rain. I can also smell if Peter’s had an ‘purpose pee’ in the house while we were away from home, right when I walk in door.

Other smells are more dimensional to me now. While getting a car wash the other day, the colorful soap they squirted on my Jeep TOTALLY smelled like Flintstones chewables. I also can’t stand the smell of Kalla Lilies any more. I had enough of their creepy, sweet yet haunting scents after my dad’s funeral. I’ve also described Dunkin’ Donuts Pumpkin Spice Latte as ‘vomit-flavored Pledge’, although that’s more of a combination of smell and taste. But seriously, that shit is terrible.

3.) We’ve both pissed the bathroom rug.

Peterbilt’s was due to revenge-pee (see ‘purpose pee’ above), while mine was a combination of getting ready for a shower, a semi-full bladder and one very, big sneeze.

4.) We both picked up seasonal allergies this year for the first time in our lives.

Kinda the reason for my #3. For like a week, both Pete and I walked around the house sporting snot fangs.

and finally,

5.) It’s totally gross when we sleep on our backs.

I can’t speak for all pregnant ladies, but it’s the most comfortable sleeping position for me, even though it drives my doctor and husband nuts when I do it. My stomach compresses and you can totally see baby girl poking and kicking through my stomach, like she’s going to rip me open stick her head out at me and shout “Quaid! Quaaaaiidd! Open your miiinnnnnnd!”

(does any one know what movie I just referenced? Bonus points if you do.)

When Peterbilt sleeps on his back, it’s head back, legs apart and junk out, which brings me back full circle to the sausage party I was telling you about. That dog needs a black censor box when he sleeps. For Christ’s sake, Pete. Put it away.

Categories: Babies, Dogs, Pregnancy | Tags: , , , | 4 Comments

And Baby Makes……5?

Yes, it’s true! We are expecting our first child! We are due right around Valentine’s Day, Feb 13 to exact and we couldn’t be more thrilled.

Pregnancy has been treating me well and isn’t nearly as scary or weird as I thought it would be.

It’s funny how this pregnancy has altered our household already, even though I’m just now starting to show. The Hubs is racing to get all of his race cars up and running before the end of the year. Without my consent, my brain has switched into full-on nesting mode and can only comprehend words and notions as they pertain to the baby.

For example, when my husband talks about spraying weed-killer on the lawn, my response is “Make sure I’m not around because I can’t be exposed to those chemicals with the baby.”

Or when the conversation shifts to ordering custom seat covers for the backseat of our Jeep, my reply is “Make sure they also allow hook-ups for a baby car seat for the baby.”

Sounds normal enough, right?

It gets more obscure. When Hubs talks about:

-The weather

-Apples

-Snowglobes

-The conflict in Israel

he gets:

-“The weather is going to very cold when the baby is born.”

-“Babies can’t eat apples, Stupid.”

-“Fake snow is toxic to babies.”

-“………..I’m sorry, what? I was thinking about paint colors for the baby’s room.”

This mindset was funny at first, but is now taking a toll on my husband, who is perpetually taking off his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Even the dogs have been stepping it up a bit. And by stepping it up, I mean Mack has put on about 3 lbs in sympathy weight and Peterbilt has resorted back to peeing in house, after a nice 4 month break. See? Everybody is chipping in to make sure the house is baby-ready.

Plus, everybody in the house has benefited greatly from my recent subsequent sobriety. As someone who regularly walked the line between wine-lover and high-functioning alcoholic, I’m actually surprised at how easy it was to give up drinking. Mack’s relief is palpable now that 9:30 PM surprise dress-ups have ceased to exist

Mack is ready for his date!

Mack is ready for his date!

and Peterbilt has enjoyed the decrease in humiliating, Pinot Grigio-induced iPhone pictures. The Hubs is happy that he just doesn’t have worry about stepping on any verbal land-minds past 9PM, or about walking into our bedroom and finding me half-sloshed and crying, watching Ice Age 3 on Netflix.

And finally, although I’ve managed to escape fatigue and nausea for the most part, I have experienced some of the classic early pregnancy symptoms, so I though it would be only appropriate that I update my banner drawing, now that I am a major contributor:

 cover

More fart-filled pregnancy stories to come! Stay tuned!

Categories: Babies, Being Married, Bulldogs, Farts, Funny, Pets, Potty Humor, Pregnancy | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

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