Pregnancy

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.

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