You’re not really expecting me to announce that I’m pregnant, are you?
I already have 850 glistening stretch marks. Any more and I run the risk of the mother ship spotting me from space and beaming me up before I find out what the hell finally happens on Lost. Not to mention that the mere thought of labor has my boy howdy cringing so hard, I think it’s turned inside out.
No, I’m not pregnant.
For all of you who are disappointed, saying Damn. Thanks for getting our hopes up. Here we thought you were going to do something productive with your life instead of just blogging the hell out it, I have two words for you.
HAVE YOU LOST YOUR EVER LOVIN’ MINDS?
OK, that was seven. And they only include one of the two I was originally considering. You got me so flustered, I can’t count.
But I have to admit, there is a tiny voice inside of me whispering … wouldn’t it be nice to have another baby?
That was my uterus, screeching and careening out the front door and getting the hell out of Dodge, lest I up and get myself any funny ideas.
**OH MY GOD**
That was Nate, wrapping his cajones in protective steel branded with the insignia HAZARDOUS WASTE, DO NOT TOUCH, and waddling out the door after my uterus, lest I up and get myself any funny ideas. And a jackhammer, hazmat suit and turkey baster.
So, I repeat: I’m not pregnant. I just look like I am, especially around the 27th of any given month.
However, with regards to the pitter patter of little feet, we did just have the following conversation the other night, which was a repetition of the same conversation we have had at least once a month for the past four years, save for one minor detail:
Helena: Can we get a dog?
Zoe: Can we get a dog?
Zoe & Helena in unison: Can we get a dog?
Zoe & Helena in unison in B minor: Can we get a dog?
Helena and Zoe in unison with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
I didn’t have much to add to this conversation, what with me laying on the floor and all, knocked unconscious by the ginormous pigs which flew into our kitchen and slammed into my skull.
So as of yesterday, we are on a mission to find a puppy. And I’m actually OK with it.
I know, right? If you ignore all the tics and twitching and the pulsating vein in my forehead and that weird thing that my left eye won’t stop doing, you’d never know that I was voluntarily entering the realm of potty training again.
And yes, for those of you who know me well, I am still prone to going into anaphylactic shock if dog slobber gets within five feet of anything on my body. Like, for instance, my aura.
Obviously, I have a few things I need to work on.
Here’s our criteria for a puppy, and when I say “our” I totally mean MY:
- Hypoallergenic, with as little shedding and dander as humanly, or caninely, possible.
- Is caninely a word? It should be.
- Must be on the smaller side, preferably less than twenty pounds. I do not want to wake up asphyxiated because it slept on my chest, having preferred something lumpier than the new puppy pillow we bought it. How am I going to cook dinner if I’m asphyxiated?
- It must be a girl. Or a boy. I have no idea which is better but it has to fall into one of those categories. If there’s any question, or if it falls into both, then it’s not the right dog for us. I’m still trying to figure out Facebook. That’s confusing enough.
- Must not eat poop. Like I told both my kids when they were pups: THIS IS A DEAL BREAKER.
- Must use the toilet for waste management and teach my kids and husband how to replace the toilet paper roll.
That last one is negotiable. Maybe.
Our kids have been assigned the task of researching the breed that will best fit our family, as well as collecting information that will give us a good idea as to the cost associated with having a dog. Then, we’ll just do what we did ten years ago when we tossed around the idea of having a second child: add $536,799.82 to the total and plan to never retire.
This is our first foray into puppy rearing and I have no idea what I’m doing but that’s OK because I never know what I’m doing so this instance feels sort of comfy and toasty warm, like I’ve been wrapped up in a blanket made out of fleece and deja vu. Nate has never raised a puppy either but together, we have managed to raise two pretty good, healthy kids. Yes, there have been lots of broken bones in the case of our eldest and one near ear amputation in the case of our youngest but that’s because our eldest is uncoordinated and our youngest has to outdo her sister at all costs. The important thing is that the police have never been called to our house. THANK GOD FOR WITNESSES.
Throughout this puppy saga, I’ll probably be posting several questions to all of you, such as Is it normal for puppies to poop an amount roughly equal to quadruple their weight? In the linen closet?
If we spend more on the dog’s teeth than on our kids’ orthodontics, can we claim the dog on our tax return?
Why the hell didn’t somebody smack me upside the head when I first mentioned getting a puppy?
Until then, humor me:
Do you have a dog? What kind? Do you recommend any that fit our criteria? Most importantly, do you think a meteorite fell from the sky and bonked me in the head and my family hasn’t noticed yet?