After reading the post I wrote yesterday, (I wrote it quickly and never got around to editing) I realized that I really overdid it with the word ‘maturing’. The 200 times I used the word maturing started giving me flashbacks to Jr. High Sex Ed class! Yuck.
Anyway, time to wrap up my life-changing discoveries.
In the past month I have taken Piper to the doggie ER twice! These trips occurred after Piper found giant steak bones (intended for an 8 lb Maltese) in grandma Debbie’s backyard. Wanting to put her pony keg body to the test, my not so miniature schnauzer chomped and chomped and chomped until she managed to break off shards of bone. Breaking apart the bone inevitably led to Piper feasting on her collection of shrapnel.
Michael and I were unaware of Pipers escapades until after hours of unexplained doggie moaning and crying she started throwing up bone-filled stomach acid. Piper threw up chunks of bone for 8 hours! Things got so bad that I was sobbing, Michael was demanding I get a grip, and Piper started bleeding from both ends. Eventually I played the mother’s intuition card and insisted we get her to a vet at 2:30am. While Piper was being observed, Michael and I had a tense hour in the parking lot together. I was alternating between bouts of tears and exclamations of, “Its all my fault,” while Michael was physically trying to not yell at me. Literally his eyes and mouth were twitching as he tried to remain patient. Not only had Michael spent 8 hours holding Piper while she painfully vomited bone, he had spent 8 hours dealing with my many hysterics as I crouched in the corner begging him to help Piper! It was outrageous.
Eventually his patience ran out in that ER parking lot and Michael demanded I stop. I was forbidden to even talk. Unfortunately, not even 30 seconds after I managed to gain my composure, a man and woman walked out of the hospital sobbing, as a nurse wheeled a miniature coffin behind them. Overwhelmed by what we were witnessing, Michael glanced at my trembling lips and watery eyes and whispered, “go ahead and cry… this is really sad.”
So why am I terrified to have children?
- I won’t be able to emotionally handle seeing my child sick or in pain. Unlike my own mother who is a source of calm & strength during times of stress, I start hyperventilating and screaming for help. Although I realize I am not helping the situation, I can’t control the panic. I’m not exaggerating… I loose my mind.
- If I’m not crying, I am gagging. Michael will have to be the family nurse because my stomach can’t handle it.
- I’ve sworn that I won’t have a dog ever again because the idea of losing them is more than I can bare. If I worry about a dog, imagine what I will be like as a mom… ever seen the movie Bubble Boy?
In short, I’m going to have to talk to someone. Seeing what I become when my dog is hurting has left me f-r-i-g-h-t-e-n-e-d!
Moms- How do you do it?