Tick. tock. tick. tock.
Don’t think I don’t see you there tapping your toe, shoving your watch in my face and sticking your tongue out. I know it’s been, like, 6 weeks since I last blogged and I’m ready to serve you a slice of my cliche casserole to appease your certainly ravenous appetite for a post. Starting with the obligatory blogger apology cliche for being so remiss in posting.
Life has been busy! Seriously! I have legit excuses for not blogging lately. Oh, you need proof? Here you go: we 1) moved apartments 2) got a puppy (not in that order…whoops) 3) have been chasing said puppy around our house pulling various household items from its mouth and doing our best to curb similar puppy hi-jinx 4) celebrated our anniversary 5) continued to hone our eagle senses to predict and prevent puppy pee and poop on our floor/bed/couch/dark corner under the couch. It should be noted that #5 is a 24-hour recurring cycle of madness.
There are probably a million more things to add to that list but I really think the above covers it. So there you go–I’m sorry for leaving my faithful readers post-less for so long. I make no promises though, that it won’t happen again. I’m just going to need you to love me despite.
The second cliche ingredient is a reflection on past events (i.e. moving and getting a puppy) that really mean more to me than anyone else and don’t include too many tidbits of wisdom for a wider audience (see #5 above if you’re wondering why the deeper meaning is lacking). I’ll spare you the nonsense and just skip to the part that may resonate with someone reading this–I’m pretty sure getting an 8-week-old puppy is about as close as you can come to having a newborn. For example, Stephen and I didn’t sleep for a week after bringing Paddington home. We kennel trained him, so he would cry the saddest cry ever heard and scratch at the kennel begging to get out and having to pee, like, every 15 minutes. We would get up in the middle of the night and shuffle around like zombies in bathrobes fumbling with puppy in one arm and other arm outstretched feeling for the back doorknob. I’ll be honest and say that on night one, circa 5 a.m., the puppy may or may not have ended up in our bed. Blast that cuteness.
He is also completely reliant on us for food, water and the dignity of peeing outdoors. Well. I guess not COMPLETELY reliant, as he probably could sustain himself temporarily on grass, bugs, shrubbery and lint found on his own. And he would probably be pretty OK with just peeing anywhere (oh wait…he IS OK with that)…but you get what I mean. We are no longer anything close to resembling people who “sleep in on weekends,” or any day for that matter. Paddington’s bladder seems hopelessly timed to have a near catastrophe every morning around 6:30 a.m. Bless my husband for being the usual, a.k.a. always, early morning puppy taker-outer.
And every little new thing he does is cute. Like sleeping on his back with all fours pointed heavenward, rolling around the living room chasing his tail, running around with chew toys that are the same size as him, etc. In the same vein, all of these cute things are so endearing that you are sure you could not love any other 3-pound object more than you love him. And if you’re me, you catastrophize everything due to this overflowing adoration–i.e. even though he has a good 12 years of life left, you are sure he will run into the street and die or eat a poison plant or fall off the bed and break a leg or dig his way through the fence on a routine pee-break.
I do not have a newborn and may or may not ever experience that, but I will throw in my 2 cents and postulate that a puppy is a pretty fun alternative endeavor.
Last but not least, I will leave you with one final cliche: a slideshow of photos. So here you go, I hope your appetite is satisfied, at least for the moment. And I hope to be back soon. Sorry again for the delay and thank you, in all seriousness, for reading.