Dogs are Dumb; Oh My God, So Dumb

ER Vet: "Hello, this is the Animal Emergency Center. How may I help you?"

Laura: "My dog just chewed up a roach motel. I'm not sure how much poison she ate. Will she be okay?"

ER Vet: "What brand is the roach motel?"

Laura: "Hey, what brand is the roach motel?"

Ian: "I think it's Combat."

Laura: "I think it's Combat."

ER Vet: "Combat should be okay. Let me look it up, just in case."

Laura: "Okay."

ER Vet: "All right, she should be fine if she ingested a little poison. The plastic is the dangerous part. Did she eat any plastic?"

Laura: "No. She just chewed on it."

ER Vet: "She should be fine." <Giggles>

Laura: "Thank you. I just wanted to make sure. Bye bye."

Ian: "So she's fine, right?"

Laura: "Yeah. I was Googling while she talked. Apparently a dog would have to eat like eighteen roach motels to really run the risk of anything toxic to the mammalian system."

Ian: <Giggles> 

Laura: "What if she had told us to induce vomiting?"

Ian: "I'd have told you to have fun."

Laura: "Do you think she'll get sick?"

Ian: "Nah. She's really hyper right now. We should feed her another roach motel."

Laura: "Winnie, you ate poison. You're the laughing stock of the Emergency Vet.  And you might get sick to your stomach. How do you feel?"

Winnie: "Awesome."

The Third Trimester

Holy crap, I'm pregnant.

Holy crap, I'm in the third trimester.

Here's an awkward photo of my third trimester belly. Also pictured: my work shirt paired with my fat pants. 

Look fast; I'm liable to delete this soon.

And here's a third trimester photo of Winnie, whose world will be rocked in three months. That's the face of a dog mentally preparing for emotional trauma.

Here's an obligatory prom style belly photo:

Hang on to the memories; hang on to the moments. 

The Snowflake Formal

Winiferd High School

 February 2013

Here's a creepy photo, as Ian clings to life and leers at the camera while Winnie examines Ian's butt. 

I sent Ian off on a daycare tour this morning at my top daycare choice since he had the day off. As he looked through the infant room window at six babies, he was greeted by six gummy smiles.

He sent me a text: "Place looks fine."

Lots and Lots of Updates

Howdy. I took a little break from the blog. This was an "I'm tired and have way too many things to think about right now" type thing. No biggie.

But someone did ask what happened to Winiferd so here's a slew of updates:

1. Spottswood's a late bloomer. 

The cat we considered physically perfect came down with a raging case of zits a few weeks ago.

Ian thought it was flea dirt but I'm a champ at detecting fleas and flea dirt (God almighty, Winnie, stop traumatizing your poor mother), and I knew it couldn't be fleas.

After 1.5 seconds of Googling, I realized it was feline acne. Our little boy has become a man.

And that's the story of why "Spottswood's acne medication" now sits on our grocery list.

Harvey has been calling Spottswood "Pizza Face." But Harvey has no room to talk because...

2. Harvey is gross.

And Harvey keeps urinating and defecating on things. And I don't know. I guess it takes too much energy to walk 15 feet to the litter box room. And life is tough.  And walking makes my feet hurt.

Update: Yesterday, Harvey had an accident-free day. He was rewarded with a smiley face sticker. We also crowned him king of the potty.

3. Winnie has declared herself my faithful watchdog. 

It's wildly annoying. Ian started a new job ages ago that keeps him out of the house later in the evenings.

So Winnie protects my life and limb by barking loudly at the wind blowing and cars driving and butterflies elegantly gliding by in perfect harmony with the universe.

Because, damn it, these things might disturb my human, and I will bark so hard the world will fear all eight pounds of my poofy ass.

Face of a killer

In return, Winnie gets a lot of time-outs when Ian's away from home. It does help to quell the barking. Yay for gentle, life-affirming doggy discipline or whatever you want to call that hippie crap.

4. I'm one week shy of the third trimester. 

Yesterday was the first day that strangers realized I was pregnant. The mail-lady, who sees me everyday, was shocked.

Mail-lady: "Oh my goodness! You're pregnant!"

Laura: "Yeah!"

Mail-lady : "How many months are you?"

Laura: "A little over 6."

Mail-lady- "Six months!?"

According to my doctor, I've gained 14 pounds so far.

The baby kicks and squirms with vigor. So vigorously that Ian once got nauseous and had to stop feeling the miracle of life since it made him feel like barfing.

I felt the first fetal movements at 18 weeks, at 5 in the morning, the sensation of a butterfly flapping around in my left side.

Now, at 27 weeks, the child does some sort of intense gymnastics routine in the early mornings, as I can feel bizarre ripples against my stomach again and again and again and you get the picture. 

I'm sorry but I have no pictures of me lately because I never think to take any. We're working on it.