I know that I promised my next post would be telling all the details of my horrid hospital stay. And I really tried to think of how I could recount the tale and make it funny or even just amusing. But the problem is that writing about it is almost as bad as re-living the whole traumatic event. So I am going to have to sit on this one a while and try to come back to it later, perhaps after all my flesh wounds have healed. I hope you understand.
Instead, I will bring you a little up to date on our new life as a family of four. Plus one dog that eats her own poo. Bringing a baby home from the hospital is sort of like bringing a goldfish home from the pet store: you get really excited about bringing this little thing home only to realize that in all honesty it doesn't really DO very much. Like, you never hear someone say, "The other day I was at the park with my goldfish and this really cool thing happened..." You also never hear anyone say, "Yesterday, I was playing my Wii with my newborn baby and he did the neatest thing..." Or at least you rarely hear that.
But there are some real differences, too. For instance, a goldfish never shoots projectile diarrhea at you when you change its diaper. And if you go out shopping and leave your goldfish at home, no one calls DHS. And, a goldfish doesn't wake you up in the middle of the night twenty-seven million times with a Scream So Shrill That You Want To Cut Off Your Own Ears just to let you know that he is hungry. Again.
Other than that, though, it's pretty much the same thing. And things are going well.