And I'm not editing. so there.
Tonight I'm needing some good vibes - WArren is gone until Friday, which has thrown me into my usual anxiety-ridden 'woe is me' state (I'm seriously considering meds these days, there is no reason a 4 day business trip should paralyze me the way it does... especially when I get the email from my friend in CA who, along with her 4 gorgeous children, just said goodbye to her husband for his SECOND 8-month deployment to Iraq... but I digress).
Skip the next paragraph if you're squeamish or about to eat lunch:
So, warren is gone, and I come home to find a big puddle of barf under the coffee table in the family room. Sherman is sick. Very sick, apparently, because it's coming out both ends and (it gets worse) he's BLEEDING with his diarrhea. Ok, take a moment to get rid of that mental image ...think of daisies and rainbows and fairies tra la tra la...
Anyway, the dog is sick and the vet says bring him in at 7 (pm). Call baby minder on the off chance she can sit while I run to the vet with Sherm, but no dice and I really am into feeling sorry for myself so I don't call anyone else but just resolve to manage because you know, people survive single parenthood all the time and he's only gone for a few days, for cripe's sake and honestly, even if he WEREN'T in Salt Lake F-ing City I'd still need to take sherman to the vet, right? Sarah and I take Sherm to the vet. Sarah is great until she discovers how LOUDLY she can scream (happy screaming, but screaming nonetheless) in the exam room while we're waiting for the doc. Piercing screams that make the sick dog jump and try to get away from her. Sarah thinks this is hilarious and there's nothing I can do to stop her. I begin to understand why some animals eat their young.
We try to get out of the vet in one piece, which is something of a challenge because there are 3 people and 4 dogs checking in at the reception area and one cat with a cone on its head checking out, so I can't put Sarah down for fear of her running amok. So I've got a squirming 18 month old on one arm, an 85 pound dog attached to the other and I somehow need to sprout an extra arm to fish out my credit card and take the bottle of pills from the vet tech. All the while wondering if these pills will ever actually be digested because Sherman hasn't shown any evidence of keeping anything DOWN.
Get home and consider skipping Sarah's bath because it's already past her bedtime and I've still got to clean up the remnants of the barf puddle (I only did minor damage control when I first saw it) as well as get everyone ready for tomorrow morning. BUt then I realize that Sarah is covered in dog hair - not necessarily Sherman's - from the exam room we were in for about 3 quarters of an hour. And she's sneezing. So, into the tub she goes.
The bright side to that is when she gets out it's WAY past her bedtime and she goes to sleep with only about a third of the usual drama. The down side is that because we were in the bathroom with the water running in the tub, I didn't hear Sherman pacing outside the bathroom door. If I HAD heard that, I could have let him outside and he would have puked in the yard. Instead he puked on the living room carpet. That's when I realized just how much of Sarah's dinner he managed to eat while I was trying to put the family room back together. Seems his appetite is fine. It's just holding on to the goods that's the problem.
Wondering now if I should just call in sick tomorrow or what. What on earth will I come home to if Sherman is alone all day?!?! *mental note to take up all remaining carpets.
And lest you think I'm heartless and unfeeling, I am absolutely sick with worry over my furry Sherma Lerma.
