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The universe must think I love poo. Why else would it keep forcing me to interact with it on a daily basis? Yesterday, all day, it was the fucking dog, which will be gone tomorrow praise Jesus. You let it out, it pees on the snow, off the snow, on the deck, off the deck, on the neighbor's car (good dog). Then it poops. Then you let it back inside and it poops again, this time on the carpet. Then it goes back into its cage because really? It can poop all it wants in there. I don't care. I also have the world's most constipated three year old. He's terrified of being in the bathroom alone, so he'll hold it and hold it and hold it until it MUST COME OUT and then he poops in his pants. About twice a week. And then I clean that up. Last night I woke up to the smell of poop in my bedroom. Have you woken up to that lately? The smell of coffee is better. The cat is now too afraid of the dog to leave the bedroom, even though the dog is in the cage and therefore no danger to her. So she pooped in front of my mirror at three this morning and woke me with her stench. Needless to say, I was overjoyed that the universe had provided me with yet more poop. I think I woke Paul with my mutterings. Something like, "I fucking hate fucking poop so fucking much." Now my head hurts and I think I'm going to go throw up. I so very much adore being pregnant. Oh goody. I just took a short break to pee and throw up (yay hormones) and my toilet is clogged. WITH POO. Kids are: Very cranky. Nickolas has a headache too. Poor baby. Last person who pissed me off: The last person who pooped here. Heard in my house: "Mommy, my head hurts." "Show me where." "IN MY HEAD." Miss Anything? pics - 2007-06-05
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