For instance, this last Sunday I took the dog for a nice walk. It was gorgeous out and I needed the exercise. It became a bit of a torture exercise, though--so much baby refuse. So many houses proudly displaying their empty diaper boxes, new pack 'n play packaging, ridiculous amounts of empty whole milk jugs, baby food jars, and in one case a defunct car seat. It was almost like a neon sign in front of each house--"Look at us! We're a family! Even our GARBAGE reminds you of the simple biological function that you just can't seem to complete! Yay, fertile people!" And then I got back to our house and we had a baby box out on the curb too. It was a brightly colored box from the baby gate that we purchased at Target--it had a picture of a happy mommy holding her happy (but mischievous) baby in her glamorous eat-in kitchen, one hand on the "Munchkin" gate. Thank goodness that gate keeps her baby safe from the Viking stove, espresso machine, and expensive cabinetry holding all sorts of sharp and breakable objects from boutique stores. That is the kitchen of someone who didn't have to spend her earnings on IVF to get that adorable tot. I felt slightly better, seeing our "family" refuse out at the curb. Except we're big fakers.
That gate was for our dog.
See, we don't have children but we have an array of dysfunctional animals. Our wonderful greyhound, Kayak, hated his crate (and we hated how it took up half of our kitchen), so we set up a crate area in the hall with the doors closed and an oldschool wood-and-cable baby gate. It turned out our dog didn't hate the crate, he hates being alone--which is too bad since neither of us are stay-at-home pet parents. Over the weekend Kayak got so worked up when we went out to Maria's on Friday that he pushed the gate just so and topped it over. Then he did it again on Saturday. We can't just leave him out, because he chews on things. Like Stickley furniture and guitar cases. So, we went in search of a better gate, one of those tension-mounted swing-latch thingies. We thought, "We can save this gate and use it when we have an actual tiny human locked away from chewing and eating and climbing on unsafe things!" It made us happy in a weird way. It gave us "family" garbage.
|Kayak, skulking behind his handiwork.|
However, last night I came home from fertility yoga to find that Kayak had chewed and gnawed right through the latch. Not enough to open it, but enough to make the latch completely and totally defunct. Like, as in I had to use a wrench to unscrew one of the tension rods so that I could get the freaking dog OUT of his "crate." Now it is definitively a dog gate, one that we can't use for a baby. Argh.
|...because Rocky is hiding under my desk.|
|Kitty wonderland. Empty...|
|Abner, having fun with progesterone caps.|
So, between garbage day and my insane animals it is a miracle that I can relax at all. Garbage day comes only once a week. I'm stuck with these crazy (yet lovable and occasionally therapeutic) animals 24/7. I love them to death, but I really need them to dial down the crazy before my next round of meds. There's only room for one psycho in this house at a time.