I realized I haven’t posted any pictures in like…FOREVER.
And I’m sure you forgot…or maybe you had no idea…that we have a growing puppy in the house who, two months ago, looked like this next to Maddie.
And this is last weekend during our trip to the nature trail. Lexi-the-Giant has since learned what “sit” means, so we’re Tim is able to get a decent picture.
If you do better with numbers, which is completely alien to me, but, whatever, I’ll humor you (I’m so nice, I know): When we got Lexi at the end of August, she was like, 21 pounds.
She is now 38 pounds…which is almost 2 pounds A WEEK (I’m sure my math is all wrong…and you’re just going to have to deal…cause just in case you hadn’t figured it out yet: math and I are not on speaking terms). Her paws are bigger than Maddie’s…and she’s almost as long as Maddie.
And that’s more than slightly concerning, considering she’s only however old (June 10, 2009) minus (October 20, 2009) is…I don’t do that, either. Subtracting DATES is like rocket science to me. Calendars don’t help. I’ve tried. I lose count and then I’ll forget to count weekends or holidays, cause they never really “count” anyway when it comes to work and diets and all…
And she’s losing teeth…which totally grosses me out. I picked up one of her toys this morning and found a nice little surprise stuck to it and about lost it. I don’t DO loose teeth…wobbly teeth…random teeth SITTING ON A CHEW TOY…they make my stomach lurch and result in an immediate gag reflex that continues until I can get the image out of my brain and convince myself to think about something totally unrelated…like bubbles.
I have no idea what I’m going to do about kids. Actually, I know exactly what I’m going to do. They’re going to have to figure it out on their own or wait for their father to come home, cause there will be no help-me-tie-a-string-to-my-piece-of-loose-calcium-and-a-door-knob on my watch…no way am I participating in that activity nor will I be within 500 feet of someone who is. Ever.
I know *they* (whoever those elusive people are) say that dogs are good training for a child…but…I don’t know. I’ve got mixed emotions about that. For one, kids don’t bite each other’s ears when they’re getting protective over territory, like an empty peanut butter jar (BIG MISTAKE. Remind me never to do THAT again…that which resulted in Lexi getting her ear pierced by Maddie’s tooth). Instead it’ll be three thousand times worse. They’ll hit and scratch and then hold grudges for months. Dogs just get over it all, “sorry about that, dude.” And the victim of the gnarly attack all, “no worries, man. I kinda like it. Makes me look tough.”
I mean, not that Lexi has an actual HOLE in her ear…just two really deep gauges…that were almost holes.
Anyway…I don’t even know where I was going with this…oh, comparing dogs to kids.
Somehow, that just didn’t come out right.
Maybe there is no comparison.
And…just FYI: Even IF WHEN a child comes along, the collective “you” will not refer to me as “mommy blogger.”
It’s bad enough that my actual name will disappear and I shall be known as “Hey, you!” or “Moooooooom!” or “I hate you!”
I certainly do not want to be relegated to a fucking category of ten bazillion people.
Hear me out.
I have nothing against a mommy blogger. I love mommy bloggers. I read mommy blogs.
What I do have an issue with is categories. Or niches. Or whatever word that will require me part of the collective “whole.”
I like to stand all by myself.
Even if it’s alone in a random corner with spiders.
Well, the spiders would probably get me to join the “group”…but only until said arachnids are disposed of by whatever method that is considered permanent and does not result in their offspring coming back for revenge.
So, beginning on the day I announce to you that my offspring will be populating this planet in a matter of months, I’d like to be called Bad Ass.
And today is NOT that day.
Though I still kinda like Bad Ass.