I spent the entire damn day cleaning up Lexi’s overactive bladder. Why bother trying to do things like WRITE or WORK or DO THE LAUNDRY when you’ve got urine instead?
Actually, I think urine and laundry are pretty equal…
But, see, urine wouldn’t even BE ON THE LIST had we not brought home a dog with a drinking problem.
No, I’m completely serious. It’s like Lexi forgets she’s drinking…like an autonomic response…like breathing.
She just KEEPS LAPPING until the entire bowl is empty. The entire 64 ounces…now sloshing around in her one cup sized bladder. Then, to top it all off, she belches like an old man after downing an entire pint of beer. I’m talking open-mouthed, full-on human expulsion that results in Tim walking around the house, straightening pictures and picking up potted plants that capsized from the reverberating sound waves.
I blame Tim. Maddie farts. Alexis burps. AND ALL THREE SNORE.
I looked over at Tim last night before going to bed, after listening to 15 minutes of the nasal chorus, compliments of Maddie and Lexi, and was all, “OF ALL THE DOGS…in the ENTIRE UNIVERSE, how did we get the two that fart, burp and snore? I’m being punished. That’s what it is. It’s karma. I must’ve been like, a rotten old lady in my previous life…stealing bingo cards and scaring little kids…”
He didn’t even answer. He just doubled over in a fit of laughter…cause he knows how much I hate incessant bodily functions…like snoring. I get myself so worked up that sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’ll decide I’ve had enough. I’ll rip the covers off, let out a loud, audible sigh, bounce off the bed – just to make sure Tim knows I’m awake – and storm out, half mumbling, have yelling, “…CAN’T…SLEEP!” and hole myself up in another room with a blanket sealing the crack under the door and my head shoved under five pillows.
Anyhow…where was I…right, the current domestic disaster – so before I can carry Lexi outside to pollinate kill the grass, we’ve got toys floating away under the baby gate, thanks to the flash flood.
Maddie, good ‘ol potty trained Maddie, will look up at me all, “MOM! SHE’S DOING IT…AGAIN!”
But how can I get mad at a face like this?
Well, it’s getting easier, with each roll of paper towels that falls victim to mopping up her mess. We used to be able to buy a HUGE pack of twenty…and it would last us for like, YEARS. I cannot even remember the last time we had to buy paper towels.
Now, thanks to Miss-I-Must-Drink-Until-I-Explode, we’re on giant sized pack number two in as many weeks.
I long for the potty training days to be over. I know I wiped Maddie’s numerous mistakes from my memory…must be like childbirth…you forget your waddling around, nine months pregnant, in 100 degree heat and subsequent three million hour labor…until you’re right back there again, with the second one…wondering why you didn’t plan for the end of your pregnancy to be during the dead of winter when you’ve got enough body heat to warm a three story, five bedroom house.