Originally posted on 9/4/2010
Current mood: thoughtful
Category: Romance and Relationships
Almost out of the blue, our precious baby girl Jordan, is now a first-time mommy. The recent change in her appearance and behavior suggested she was knocked up but because Jordan is confined to her spacious backyard, we couldn't figure out how it happened. She went to the vet this past Thursday, had a $180 ultrasound done that confirmed her pregnancy and 2 heartbeats. She had her puppies the *very next day* after the vet visit. We could have saved ourselves 200 buck$ if we'd just waited 24 lousy hours. But it was good to hear that she's in EXCELLENT health, she damn well better be, we've probably spent thousand$ over the years keeping her that way. She was acting weirder than usual early Friday morning before we went to work, so I kinda figured she'd have them while we were at work, and she did, sort of. Sis was in the other truck and I rushed home to see how she was doing after work. Sure enough, she greets me at the front door like usual and as I scratch her big adorable head, I hear meek little cries from our beautiful vintage couch. She then rushes over to the whining pup, jumped back on the "no dogs allowed" VINTAGE couch and proceeded to nurse. I only saw one but I could tell by the white spot on the top of its head, that the ugly, genius, hilariously sly dog from across the street was the Doggie Baby Daddy. Apparently, he'd somehow made his way into our fenced-in backyard, knocked up our doggie and got back out of our yard under the cover of darkness like a thief in the night. Seriously, if you'd seen some of the things I've seen this dog do, you'd know he is capable of doing some amazing things. I tell people fascinatingly true stories about him but I don't think I'm believed most of the time. Honestly, after figuring out it was him, my first thought was to stomp across the street, gut-check and then do a running Hulk Hogan style clothes-line to the couple that lived there. They're dumber than a box of puppy treats and as an ironic twist of fate would have it, they also happen to own probably one of the smartest dogs I've ever seen. Can we sue them for puppy support? Oh well, what's done is done. Anyhow, I ran to call Sis to come home quickly by unintelligibly screaming "They're here! They're here!" into the phone, even though I'd only really seen one. I knew there'd be another one soon since the doctor saw two heartbeats. I looked a little closer and I thought I saw two the next time but I wasn't certain. Instead of adorable, mostly black puppies, I began to see balls of money being squeezed out of her already overworked vagina. $$ I went to look for the camera and by the time I got back, there was a whitish mucus blob on my "no dogs allowed" VINTAGE couch. Another one? Okay, now's there's DEFINITELY two. [Cash register sounds going off in my head ]. Sis made it home in about 5 minutes flat. We watched Jordan nurse, tend to her pups and bleed all over our "no dogs allowed" VINTAGE couch. Then, as we marveled at how naturally she went into Super Mommy mode, another huge, white mucus blob starts working its way out of her, right on our "no dogs allowed" VINTAGE couch. Daaaaaaamn. I've never seen anything like that IN PERSON before, especially not on my "no dogs allowed" VINTAGE couch. Sis and I look at each other, stunned, and say a collective "Wow" in perfect unison. The "beauty of birth" is a little hard to see, but I get it. New life is beautiful in its own way. Amazingly, after all the gore of puppy birth on our "no dogs allowed" VINTAGE couch, Jordan kept everything as clean as possible, we didn't have much clean-up, just a couple of umbilical cord pieces here and there. Sis did a quick couch-check, to see if we had any other biological material to dispose of or attend to. As Sis searches, she hears more tiny whines and discovers the biggest one of the litter, under the couch. This was a really BIG boy too, most likely the first one born. Oh shit, another one? That makes four. [MORE cash register sounds going off in my head ]. We now have two girls and two boys. A boy & girl all black like Jordan. And a boy & girl mostly black, with a white patch on top of their heads and white "socks". Their names are Big John (BJ), Jasmine, Juno & Jo-Jo. They're majorly rambunctious and as cute as buttons and best of all, Jordan is the greatest doggy mommy on the planet. We're super duper proud of her. Awwwww! (How "vomitously" sugary sweet is that? )
Okay, I can appreciate that you might not be a pet person, so this entry might not resonate with you like some of the other ones but this isn't really about dogs or puppies or overworked vaginas. It's kinda about motherhood and where I fit into it all. (This is still MY blog after all. ) As you know, I have this internal tug-of-war about children. I want them but I'm scared to commit to all that parenthood entails. I know I'm no Spring Chicken when considering whether my body is "Biologically Baby-Ready". Thankfully, my doctor assures me that I'm as healthy as a horse. (Excuse the dumb zoological references). What you may not know, is an ex and I have discussed co-parenting our own little bundle of joy. ♥ I mentioned it to him once as a joke, because we don't get along AT ALL. He didn't take it as a joke AT ALL. He was gung-ho and excited about the prospect. He's only a few years younger than me and he doesn’t have children either. I know he wants kids but I also know he wants us to get back together and that AIN'T happening. He knows I'm a free spirit and would never want to hand over any measure of control (over me) to someone else. Sad thing is, no matter who I ultimately choose to go there with, he'll automatically get some measure of control over me, unless I opt for the clinical choice of an anonymous donor. (Gross) I know I shouldn't look at it that way but that's the way it is. On paper, the ex is perfect; great age, no kids, good job, ready, willing and able. In real life, he's controlling, jealous, argumentative, antagonistic and possessive. Aside from all that, the idea of doing the deed with him again isn't exactly a pleasing thought to me either. - In fairness to him though, he always apologizes afterwards, not after doing the deed, after being an azzhole. He just doesn't do anything to improve himself so that it won't happen again. So the horrible cycle repeats itself...over and over and over. More bad behavior, more apologies, no resolutions. As you can imagine, we used to butt heads constantly. I'm thinking that dumping "co-parenting" into the mix, is surefire recipe for explosive disaster, given what I already know about him. On the flip side, I also wonder if maybe fatherhood would change him for the better. Maybe being a dad would make him calmer and more mature. As soon as I start thinking like that, my gut tells me that going there with him wouldn't serve the greater good for me, the kid or him....well maybe him. When I see him out now, I don't even acknowledge him. I'd seen him just recently at a friend's birthday party and except for a few inconspicuous glances his way, I never made eye contact with him. I could tell he was trying to get a reaction from me by all the female attention he was giving out, which is another reason NOT to let him father our kid because it shows how little he really knows me. Frankly, he could get butt booty naked in the middle of the dance floor and go to town on a chick and I couldn't care less, unless I'm not allowed to take pictures. 📸 He should know me well enough to know that trying to make me jealous will have exactly the OPPOSITE effect on me. And not just with him, with anybody, even somebody I'm initially attracted to. I can't help it, I just spontaneously become *less* attracted, not *more*. When folks do petty stuff like that, I automatically think to myself, 'What a bitch move. Weak and sad.' I deplore weakness in any form. I work to support myself and my family, not for the attention of a weak, short-sighted, sad person not worthy of my time or attention. Next! See how that works? I think I just wrote myself out of a baby with him, a future restraining order against him and bloody brains expelled via baseball bat...mine or his (bat or brains). Blog wisdom is so powerful , and so is a swing harder than Babe Ruth's (mine, not his.)
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