Remember when I told you that stepping in dog poop was a perfect end to a crappy day? Guess what! I was wrong.
Picture me, standing in my living room, holding my cute little puppy, ready to go to bed. Puppy starts squirming and nipping at my hands. And then puppy squirms right out of my arms and drops to the floor. Landing on his head. It was horrible. The poor little guy cried and cried and squealed and screamed and I thought I had for sure broken him and that he was dying in my arms.
Thank god my roommate was there and she knows a lot about dogs and she took him and checked him out and calmed him down. I felt awful. I felt like a Brittany Spears-like mother who, after dropping her kid outside of Wal-Mart, watches as another, better mother picks up her kid and makes sure he's ok.
I had a sickening look into the future where my roommate(who would no longer be my roommate I guess)would bring over her nicely dressed, well behaved kids to play with my kid who is in the backyard in a diaper with snot dripping down his face playing with a syringe he found in the alley. It wasn't a pretty picture.
Was this a sign? Should I never have kids? I can't even keep plants alive for crying out loud.
Speaking of signs, I changed my outside light bulb last week after leaving it for 2 months and this morning the glass jar-like covering smashed onto my porch when I walked out the door, narrowly missing my head.
I'm really curious to know what the universe has been trying to tell me this week. Stay in bed? Eat more bran? What?! I'm scared.