Monday, Monday

Yeah, just try to get that song out of your head now.

I am just not cut out to be a mother. Having raised a puppy for almost eight months now, I can say unequivocally that I should never be allowed to have a human baby. Any child of mine would be in therapy by the age of 6 months.

Today, I'm in a tizzy because Rowen has an upset tummy. She's been sorta sick since she woke me up at 3 o'clock Thursday morning to go outside. She isn't sick sick---just sorta sick---upset tummy, some vomiting. And I am, of course, freaked. I want to know what is wrong with my puppy and how to make it better. I want my happy, healthy puppy---not this dry-heaving, grass-guzzling sorta sick puppy. I'm also, because I'm incredibly neurotic, constantly second-guessing my decision to take her to the vet this morning. Am I overreacting? Did I wait too long? Is the vet laughing at me because I'm so overprotective of my baby or shaking his head in wonder that anyone would allow as neglectful a person as I to care for a living creature? And how much is this going to cost? That last thought leads me straight to my other favorite emotion: guilt. How can I possibly think about money at a time like this? Rowen's health is worth any amount of money. Did I do the right thing by getting a puppy in the first place? Would she have this problem if I wasn't so selfish as to keep a dog in an apartment? Did I set the thermostat too high and give her heat exhaustion? Did I feed her something bad? Did she get hold of some chocolate that I carelessly dropped? Am I the worst puppy mom ever?!

In other news, I've joined the health club. I finally got a straight answer on cost. I'm still not quite sure how that happened. Did the salesman realize the error of his ways? Was he taken over by a pod person? Did my cunning negotiation skills convince him that I am not a woman to be trifled with? (Okay, probably not that last one.) I'm now committed to the M/W/F/Su plan for at least three months.

Finally, because I can't go a day without it: Tom and Katie. Run, Katie, Run. Tom is a freak.