The Downside of Motherhood

Let's get one thing perfectly clear before I start.  I have not, nor do I plan on, deporting anything that remotely resembles a tinier version of Yoda out of the country known as Vagine anytime soon.  I love babies, really I do.  I am also completely unprepared for the inevitable punishment that will be inflicted upon me when my wisecrackingtakenoprisonersilldoandsayasiplease ass mates with my espn24/7ilovefantasyfootballandcraftbrewbeer boyfriend. I am already aware that Bossman upstairs is planning on sending me some unholy devil spawn that will laugh when I tell it to do chores and steal money from my wallet when I'm not looking. Also, I refer to my primevil unborn as an it, which should serve as an indication of my lacking preparedness for child rearing. Clearly.

However, I am the loving (if not, neurotic) mother to a 1 year old lab/husky mix heroically rescued by the boyfriend and I last year. Yes, I said heroically. I have an ego, sue me. He's 85 fluffy white pounds of sweetness, love, smarts and definite personality. Unfortunately because I am exactly the kind of person that I explain myself to be in the paragraph above, the following took place today.

My dog threw up on my carpet. Twice. He dragged my sorry butt all over the complex like a rag doll so that I was sweating like a whore in church... in my work clothes. He pissed off a fracking blue jay somehow, which then proceeded to chase us across a hill, divebombing MY head! Um Hi? Mr. BlueJay? Sorry my dog pissed you off, but if you want to take it out on something, maybe it could be his ass and not my scalp, k? Thanks. Go ahead - picture me sprinting across the hillside flailing and yelling (see also, the Bee Incident.), ducking for cover from a friggin bird, while my dog jumps around trying to catch said bird like a junkie who's watching a bag of crack being waved in front of his face.  Also, he tore open his dog beg, ate the zipper that had previously held it shut, ripped all the stuffing out and left it on the carpet for me to pick up.

And I? I will still snuggle with him and give him kisses before bed. Because just like any good mother, I am exactly the sucker that he thinks I am. This, ladies and gentlemen, is my son. Thank You, and Good Night.