This week I’ve found myself nesting again. My mother was gracious enough to take Beckett for most of the day on Sunday so that I could pull a whirling dervish on the entire house. It was therapeutic, and downright necessary. Sometimes I’m amazed at how little you can get done with a 13 month running around. Beckett is pulling objects out of drawers, baskets, trashcans, and the refridgerator as fast as we can shovel them back in. He thinks it’s such a fun game. I’m not quite as amused.
I’m nesting because, on Thursday, we’re picking up the puppy. What we’re about to undertake is a little daunting, in my opinion. I’ve never had a puppy before. But I have had a human poop machine, and all I have to say is this: Thank God babies wear diapers. If Beckett had been crapping on the floor and leaving puddles in corners for the last year, I think I would have lost my mind by now. Or at least lost my cookies a few times. I’m afraid of housetraining a puppy. Don’t even ask me how I feel about potty training Beckett!
I’ve been doing my due diligence as a prospective puppy owner with unlimited Internet access, and I have to tell you, this puppy business sounds like WAY HARD. Did you know that puppies cry during the middle of the night, and that some books actually recommend setting an alarm clock for every three hours to get up and take your new puppy out? Every three hours! We survived that stage with Beckett, and it was not pretty. I am horrible on sleep deprivation. I become a completely different person. A much more apathetic person. Can’t the puppy wear diapers, too?
And what about the chewing? Apparently, based on the Internet articles, our sofa will be destroyed. Puppy, please don’t destroy our sofa. It’s not ours. It’s Cathy’s. And puppy, you don’t want to mess with Cathy. She’ll cut you.