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The end is nigh (or super-happy blog fodder Monday)

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Sometimes you have days, where the stars seem to align and create such positive happenings in your life that it must be meaningful. Today was such a day, only in reverse.  Instead of fabulous joy and wonder at my most excellent luck, I feel decidedly grumpy and have decided that today’s events must be signs of some impending doom.

When we awoke this morning, the dog had been unable to hold on (we don’t have a doggie door) and had done an enormous poo by the back door. Had she alerted us to the fact that she needed to go, we would have assisted her but, no, she just quietly slinks out and lays it by the back door. She’s not a petite little thing either, she’s a very sturdily built black lab and hence, delivers large, sturdy logs.

I should have realised that this was not a good sign and headed back to bed. Waking up to a large turd on the floor is never good. Failing to take heed of the warning, we readied ourselves and headed for the supermarket.

When we arrived  we couldn’t get a park in our usual spot and had to head around to the rear  carpark. It did look rather busy but that’s to be expected with school now over for the year and Christmas looming large. I wasn’t too daunted.

We parked and I grabbed Grub out of the car and flipped her up against my shoulder. Apparently I misjudged that manoeuvre  somewhat, as I ended up smacking her head into the car door. Naturally, she was inconsolable. She became so distraught that she vomited all over me and the sling, in which I usually carry her. I passed her to Beefcake so that I wipe myself clean with a spare blanket that was in the boot of the car. It was ever so glam, standing in the supermarket carpark,  scooping chunky bits of curdled milk out of my cleavage.

We headed into the shops and encountered a family we know as soon as we walked through the doors. I was particularly pleased as  my “readying myself” for the supermarket earlier in the morning had not included washing my hair and my top was wet and stinking of vomit.

The supermarket was crowded and busy. We intended to duck in and grab a few supplies and head home. It took over an hour and we filled the trolley. Once we managed to get out of there, the fun wasn’t over. I passed grub to Poss to hold, when we arrived home, so that I could unpack our shopping. She became distracted and dropped Grub on her head. It was only from couch height and she managed to grab her top before she hit, thereby lessening the impact. Still, poor Grub had reached the limits of her tolerance for our incompetent baby handling and my knee jerk reaction was to shriek “Oh, fuck Poss”. Yeah, I’m great. Two crying daughters.

To top it off, it appears that my Grub is now too heavy for me to carry in my current sling. My pelvis simply can’t take the strain. I am now so swollen and sore that I can’t really walk terribly well and will be relegated to the couch for the rest of the day.

The final icing on the cake was that the bank sent me a replacement card with my maiden name on it. I changed my name on our joint account two days after our wedding, five years ago. I have received several cards from them since then, all of which bore my married name. I now have to wait another week for a new card. Lovely.

I could take this as a sign that I really shouldn’t get out of bed or, as Beefcake suggested, be happy and rejoice in the blog fodder!


5 responses

  1. Now that sounds like a fairly shite day. Might I suggest a) cake b) champagne. They usually make things right with the world

  2. Go back to bed. Pull the covers up and then aftre a little nap start the day again.

    Cool new site though

    Suzie’s last blog post… I’m Back

  3. Poor, poor you. There are not a lot of things as horrible as smelling of upchucked baby milk. Tilly did it to me once as we were landing at Heathrow. Oddly we didn’t get pulled over at customs.

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