Baby Days

Sometimes the reality of what it means to have a baby really only sinks in when the typically mundane routines of your former life transform into something completely different.

Take today, for instance. Not much on the agenda. My cleaning lady coming from nine to one, and after that, the freedom to do whatever I liked. The biggest problem, typically, would be keeping the dogs from going crazy when the cleaning lady runs the vacuum outside the bedroom door.

As it happened, life threw a curveball today. You see, Scott's been convinced for the past week that King, our older dog, has fleas. I was convinced he was wrong. I chalked up the constant shaking and itching to the colder, drier weather. I chalked up the mysterious bumps on Scott's toes to mosquito bites. I chalked up the scabby bits on King's coat to a skin rash, and the little black bits of dirt that kept appearing wherever the dogs had last been, to the fact that I haven't bathed them lately.

Today, though, I couldn't deny it any longer. A flea jumped onto my arm and basically announced, "HI! Me and a thousand of my brethren have infested your house!" My husband was right and I was wrong.

So, this necessitated a change to the schedule. Again, were I baby-less, this wouldn't be a problem. Wait until the cleaning lady leaves, go to the pet store, pick up some flea shampoo and upholstery cleaner, throw all the bedding into the wash, and give the place a good vacuum.

But with a baby? It all changes.

Let's start with this morning. With the cleaning lady here, I barricade myself in the nursery with all the baby accouterments I can fit in there -- the yoga ball, the bouncy seat, the giant Fisher Price swing that weighs at least thirty pounds. I bring the dogs, too, because they are terrified of the vacuum cleaner.

The next four hours I alternate between feeding the baby, rocking the baby to sleep, and then soothing the baby BACK to sleep because she's woken up because the dogs have barked at something outside the door. NOTE TO SELF: Dogs + Baby = Chaos. Also, I get really hungry, which happens now because I breastfeed and am outputting a lot of calories so when I need to eat, I need to EAT.

So it's 1pm, I haven't eaten since breakfast (half a Pop-Tart rather than my usual cereal and milk because she's having digestive problems and I think milk might be the culprit so I haven't been eating any dairy for the past three days) and I'm hungry and mad at the dogs and the baby won't stop waking up and fussing. SO. I feed her for the hundredth time, and as I do, I see a flea on my arm right next to the baby's head and I FREAK OUT.

But what can I do? It's not like I can just run to the pet store for flea meds. For one thing, Sadie is now awake, and taking her out necessitates all this prep work, and besides which I have not taken a shower and there is barf on my shirt. Clearly I cannot do all the things that I need to do right now, so which do I forego? The shower? The change of clothes? Lunch? The dogs are going insane because they think I'm about to walk them and Sadie is thinking about whether or not she wants to fuss again and instead, as I'm trying to put on shoes, she barfs AGAIN all over my shirt and like it or not, I have become the Woman Who Goes Out with Barf On Her Shirt and I don't even care.

What could possibly make this afternoon more fun? Well, if you guessed "run into Stephen Toblowsky from the hit show 'Glee' while at the pet store comforting a screaming infant," you're right on the money.  I did. And I told him I really liked "Glee." I also learned today that people do not like you when you're in line behind them holding a screaming baby, but to his credit, Stephen Toblowsky was a perfect gentleman as I was telling him I really like him in the show and simultaneously jiggling Sadie to within an inch of her life.

Suffice it to say, today wiped out both of us. Sadie's now concluding what has stretched into a nearly four-hour nap, during which time I locked myself in the bathroom with the dogs and smothered them in flea shampoo. Picture this, if you will. I was wearing a bathing suit, in the shower, with two very wet and very miserable terriers, trying not to vomit everytime I rinsed King down and dead fleas fell off his coat and swirled down the drain. The whole time, I'm listening with half an ear for Sadie's yells, because they could come at any time and GOD FORBID HER MAJESTY NOT HAVE A BOOB WHEN SHE NEEDS ONE.

Life sure isn't boring.