Nesting, neuroses, and more nesting

So yesterday was about the most ridiculous day I've had to date during this pregnancy. I went from nesting, to hysterical, to nesting again. Sheesh. I guess if it only happens once every 22 weeks, we're in good shape.

Neuroses part 1 – Immediately after breakfast, I decided that the arm chair that our pups have completely destroyed had to go. It's been ripped to shreds for months (I'd even say years) and it's been driving me crazy. Sure, it's in their room for them to shed on or sleep on or chew on or whatever – but enough was enough and it was time for the chair to go. I tried to get it out of there myself on Thursday night, but I just couldn't figure out how we got the stupid thing in the room. I was half-tempted to pull out Doug's chain saw and just cut the thing in half, but then I realized that I've never used a chain saw and 22 weeks pregnant is probably not the best time to teach yourself how to wield something that dangerous. Alas, I gave up and decided to clean something else.

After 15 or so minutes of repositioning the stupid thing every way we could think of, Doug decided that it was only coming out if we took the door off the hinges. I think he thought that would be enough to send me nesting on something else. Nope. Hinges off. Please. Now. Please. Poor Doug. That's just what he wanted to be doing on Saturday morning immediately after breakfast. Whether it was or not, that's what he did.

Neuroses part 2 – Our mailbox came unloosed from part of the post a few weeks back during a storm. It was still functional, just not pretty. Poor Doug. Again. It was such a pretty day; I insisted that we work outside. I trimmed the hedges, which again, had to be done immediately after breakfast – no questions, please. Doug ripped the old post out of the ground to discover that we were going to have to set the new post in concrete. Off he went to the local hardware store to pick up a bag of quickrete. Enter hysteria.

Hysteria – Dan's Country Hardware is just a hair over a minute from the house. In my head, that indicated that Doug should be gone no longer than 10 minutes, 15 if there were a lot of our neighbors out buying quickrete. He left; I finished bagging my hedge clippings, and moved around to the backyard for doggie duty. Or is that doggie doody? You get the point. I finished de-dootying the backyard and went inside. Hmmm. Doug had now been gone for about 30 minutes. Slightly worried, but not hysterical yet. I called him, but of course, his phone rang in our bedroom. I went outside to occupy myself further and low and behold, my ears are filled with the sounds of sirens. Many sirens. Less than one minute from the house. Hmmm. Worried, not hysterical, but beginning to pray. I tried to convince myself that Dan's didn't have any quickrete and Doug had just gone to Home Depot. I tried really hard to convince myself of that, but when he had been gone 56 minutes, I really started to panic. I was splitting my time staring at the clock and staring at the front door. At one hour, I was planning to get in my car and go look for him. At 57 minutes, he pulled in the driveway. I ran out to meet him, by this time, completely inconsolably hysterical. Poor Doug. He thought someone had died. I couldn't really explain to him why I was so upset, but I couldn't calm down either. I half crawled in the truck with him, crying my eyes out and telling him how much I loved him. Poor guy. So far, he's had a pretty rational pregnant wife. Saturday? Not so much.

Neuroses part 3 – I spent yesterday evening cleaning out the top of my closet. My mom and dad (Daniel's Gram and Gramps) came over and bought us a glider for Daniel's room. While we were at Babies R Us, I bought Daniel his first pair of board shorts, his first Hawaiian shirt, and his first box of diapers. Well my God. This stuff had to have a place to be until we start working on his room! So there I was, 10:00 last night, standing on a kitchen chair in the middle of my closet. . . throwing out old bathing suits that wore out their welcome years ago, rearranging luggage, and dragging down old paperwork to file. Poor Doug. He just wanted to have a nice, leisurely weekend. Too bad my hormones took over and made that absolutely impossible. Maybe next weekend will be more sane.

Fur baby madness

The last two days have been an exercise in. . . well, lots of things. Patience, for one. Preparation for motherhood is on the list, too. If you can think of other good descriptors, bring it on. . .

Maddie - she's our blue heeler - decided to pick up some sort of nasty bacteria sometime on Tuesday. I spent the better part of the part of the night usually designated for sleeping cleaning up, well, Maddie poo. She evidently had "dietary indiscretion," which translates into $180 at the vet and a lot of antibiotics. I've been spoon feeding her prescription dog food for the last couple of days with a shot of vanilla yogurt on the side to get this bacteria situation under control. Just as things were looking up for Maddie, things started looking grim for Dasha.

Dasha - she's our brindle baby - also had dietary indiscretion. Dasha chose to ingest Dusty Miller, a type of ground cover plant. Again, the time most people spent in their beds last night, I was cleaning up copious amounts of vomit. Around 3:30 in the morning, Dasha woke me up with a surprise. Thanks, babe. By the time I got everything cleaned up and was ready to crawl back into bed, she got sick again. This is where the story gets good.

I discovered that Dasha had eaten the Dusty Miller when I scrubbed regurgitated leaves off of our bedroom floor. I hopped online to find out whether they were poisonous – the first site I came across at 4:00 am had them listed as "slightly poisonous." Uh huh. After a hurried trip to the emergency vet, an additional $180, and a lot of blood, Doug determined that the Dusty Miller is a member of the Wormwood plant family. Ever heard of that? That's where we get Absinthe. Ever heard of that? That's what Van Gogh was blasted on when he decided it was a good idea to have one ear rather than two. Needless to say, Dasha was distraught. Mommy was distraught. The bank account is distraught.

So, what's the moral of the story? Don't let your dogs eat anything other than their dog food, or you'll have a very expensive, very sleepless couple of days.