The Dictator

I know, I've been all sorts of dead to the Internet world for months, and now I'm back with a vengance. But we were keeping this whole baby thing very very quiet, and now we're allowed to talk about it, so I'm alive with the sound of my own typing.

Here's the thing, I love that I'm pregnant. Love it! I have never been more happy about anything in my whole life. However, I am physically miserable. Every day I feel like crap and, I didn't know it was possible, but I hate my body more than ever and I'm not even showing yet. Thus, it is remarkable that I'm still all sunshine and flowers. I must really want this kid.

I have taken to calling the fetus (it's a fetus now, according to "What to Expect") "The Dictator." It dictates things after all, from what I eat to the fact that I now nap on a regular basis, which is completely NOT something I would normally do.

Maybe the name will change over the course of the pregnancy, but right now it's The Dictator.

Brett has been great, though he's been sick with one thing after another himself, so he's not exactly cheerful these days. Poor guy. Also, with both of us not feeling tip-top, the house is looking like a project for that dude on Oprah that clears out clutter. It's bad. However, we did break down and contract a fence installation for the back yard. This was HUGE because Brett prefers to do things himself, but with all the projects we have going on and the fact that we're both struggling, paying for the work seemed the prudent thing to do.

BORING.

The dogs have been exciting in a very unfortunate way. Millie, the little poodle, was diagnosed with and underdeveloped vulva in the summer of 2007. Some lady dogs have this problem, and it causes incontinence when she sleeps. We had it under control with daily estrogen supplements, until we went to Texas in March and boarded the dogs at the vet. Ever since then she's had almost nightly accidents. We took her back to the vet and they did an exam and x-ray and found nothing. We've basically decided that it's like some sort of PTSD as a result of us leaving her. She is nothing if not incredibly sensitive and very very attached to her humans. Thus, we are trying to cure her of it like it's a behavioral problem and not a physical problem, because apparently that's what it is. She now has to wear this little denim diaper to bed, and when I get up to pee for the fourth time in a single night I will take her outside. So far so good, but odds are that just by writing this I am jinxing us.

Bear, our pomeranian, was not to be outdone. Last Thursday, I was at the office when Brett called to indicate that Bear had "a problem." I was about to leave early because I had come down with a cold and on top of the nausea it was just too much to take. When I got home I saw that Bear had a bloody rear end. Cue freak out and call to the vet. They couldn't get him in for a few hours, so I sat with him wrapped in a towel on the couch. Poor little guy. When the vet finally did get him in they took one look at him and said that he had an abscessed anal gland. Yummy! A week later, he's still on the mend with a very nasty looking butt wound and some high test pain killers and antibiotics.

We love them anyway. It's all good training.

Brett's got exams next week, and eyes so blood shot he looks like he's permanently stoned. I will be very happy when next Thursday comes and he is done with his last exam and we have our final doctor's appointment of the first trimester and hopefully we will hear a strong and healthy heart beat.

The Dictator needs some sort of carbohydrate now. Ta ta.