I had a life before Henry, really I did. I have proof of it in several places, this site being one of them. I also have vague memories of when I used to read, write, and occasionally dust my house. But then came this guy.
At first it seemed normal to be stuck in the “What was I thinking?” stage but that wore thin after a few weeks. I’m still stunned at how much I could’ve forgotten in terms of how much work it is to have a puppy. This is my third (and last, she quickly adds) so it isn’t new territory for me.
After weeks of getting up with him every night, after what seems like constant redirecting his teeth from my furniture to the approximate 346 chew toys I’ve bought recently, after endlessly cleaning up accidents when it seems he’ll never ever get the concept of house training, I remembered something very different about this puppy chapter. I’m ten years older than the last time I did it and I’m alone while doing it.
That combo seems to exponentially change things. Including my proclivity to meltdowns when I get overwhelmed. It’s the dumbest thing. I’ll be going along doing the same things I do every single day but when my frustration level reaches a certain point, I just lose it.
I suppose that’s called stress, eh?
Which makes it seem even more ridiculous because I mean, I’m allowing a 12-pound puppy complete control over my emotions. But there it is. I’m overwhelmed and tired and frustrated and his name is Henry.
Good thing he’s so (literally) stinking cute.