Thursday, September 17, 2015

Which Am I?

It's weird, this feeling that I have morphed. I don't know if it was conscious or not, but I feel it.

I was someone who wanted to be a mom and knew I'd be good at it.
Then I was someone who couldn't find someone to help me make that happen.
Then I was someone it didn't matter for anymore because I can't have kids anyway.
And now I feel like someone who would be a crappy mom anyway so I feel it's for the best afterall.

I don't know where that comes from. I suspect it's life circumstance.

I look around me at those in my life who have small children and frankly, it doesn't seem like they're having all that much fun.

I think about other women, out in the world or even right near me, who don't have kids and I think to myself, they must not have wanted them.

But that's what we tell ourselves because we don't like the alternative; that she really really wanted them, but it just didn't happen for whatever reason and now she's so bitter about it she even convinced herself that babies and kids are exhausting and sticky and loud anyway and who wants that?

If someone I loved romantically said to me "Hey, you'll be a great Mom! I want to be a parent with you. Let's do it!" I have absolutely no clue how I would respond to that. Would I come around to the idea and start researching adoption agencies? Or would I balk at it, reminding him that I have zero patience and I appreciate a less complicated life. That I'm too old and tired anyway and frankly wouldn't want the inconvenience. And since it wouldn't be a kid that was ours biologically, who knows who we'd get?

But at the same time, maybe it wouldn't be so bad having my world flipped on it's head.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Mischief and Gallbladders

It's been a long long time, it seems. Lots has happened but in this entry I will talk about Harlow and the ridiculous beast she's become since she became a puppy of Leisure since being put under the care of her doting grandparents.

When I was to have my gallbladder removed, I knew that having my rambunctious girl nearby would be a problem. What? You have four stitches in various location on your belly? Let me jump on you and then reposition myself numerous times by placing all my weight on your stomach via either my paddle paws or my bony elbows. That will help, right?

Yes, puppy needed to be put aside for a bit. So, a day before I went under the laproscope (I made that word up), Dad whisked her away to sunny Cape Cod, and I didn't see her again until eight days later when I joined everyone else down at Scott's End.

Prior to that, while I was laying in agony and discomfort, Harlow was learning to swim, going on multiple walks a day (sometimes attended, sometimes not, because, well, a puppy's gotta wander if she feels like it, people!), getting lots of treats and tummy rubs and oodles of people telling her how beautiful she is, free range on were to roll and where to poop and how long she should be out exploring for, receiving extra special things in her food bowl (because kibbles not good enough for cape dogs!) and on and on.

When I showed up, she was feral.

I exaggerate, she was a good girl in the cape and feral when we went back to the real world.

Happy little grubby girl!

Happy happy!

and then there was a the shark-fish she proudly brought to me

Here she is helping out Uncle Billy by kindly removing the branches he placed in a wheelbarrow

Uncle Billy was pruning and Harlow was helpful. from C.M. Scott on Vimeo.

Nervous about the deep water, she was brave while learning to fetch in the water...

Nervous about the high tide, churning as she comes back from C.M. Scott on Vimeo.

Once we returned home, there was about a week where her snout was just out of joint. I would come home to find a shoe or two chewed one day (she hasn't done that in probably nine months), and the next day she's get into the living room trash bin. The next day her offenses were more signs of boredom and empty threats, like removing the cushion from the char but not damaging it, or, my personal favorite, carefully removing the lid to the wooden salt bowl and placing it in another room, spilling no salt, and getting no teeth marks on the lid. It was a sort of I could make a serious mess if I wanted to!