Call me Crazy.

I think there is a reasonably good possibility that I’m crazy.   Certifiably insane.  

The reason, you ask?  For starters,  I’m pregnant.  On top of that,  my daughter just started preschool,  I’m trying to finish my book,  I just accepted a new job and I’m feverishly trying to make time to keep my house in order and put some kind of food on the table each day (sometimes I seriously praise Baby Jesus for boxed macaroni).  And now,  to top off my hectic schedule,  we bought a puppy.

No, wait… We bought a shoe – destroying,  rug-biting, nighttime-crying, sad-eye- giving, water-bowl-spilling, clumsy, muddy puppy.

The only words that have left my lips in the last 4 days have been,  “no, Sven!”  Seriously.

He especially seems to be fond of flip flops and my brown shag rug,  which he eats like strings of spaghetti.  But he also prefers all my other dog’s toys to those of his own and he really loves to nibble on my daughter’s pretty hair while she eats her breakfast.

My other dog: a 9 year old fuzzball who has serious anxiety issues and a strong preference to do things her own way can’t seem to figure out where he came from,  why he’s here and when he’s planning on hitting the road.  So far,  she’s not much of a fan.

Needless to say,  between my already hectic schedule and the puppy needing constant surveillance,  the dishes in my sink are reaching new heights,  my floors are covered in a sticky substance that I haven’t figured out yet and the laundry is threatening to swallow me whole.  I have new gray hairs and haven’t left the house for anything that wasn’t “necessary” in almost a week.   But I am so completely smitten with my clumsy ball of fur.  He gives incredible hugs, sweet kisses and endless, pure love.

He follows me everywhere and, even though I trip over his gigantic paws more than once a day,  I love his companionship.   He’s wonderfully innocent and aloof and he’s perfect just the way he is. 

I love him.