Fits and Starts

1. Madeleine is at a new stage. The stage where she'll eat a banana and drink milk in a chair, uninterrupted for a good 15 minutes straight. She doesn't try to eat electrical cables anymore. When doors close, she knows how to open them instead of screaming bloody murder while jamming her fingers desperately under said door.

She's reached the stage where I can take a shower as she plays. I relished this moment today, standing in a hot shower knowing she was capable of coming to get me if something truly was wrong.

What I didn't factor was her curiosity. To open the door. Find me. And while I smiled under streams of hot water, I didn't anticipate her turning the water to cold. Ice cold. Freezing cold. The kind that kinda makes you scream and shout because it feels like someone just dragged a knife down your spine.

She giggled.

2. I decided that I need to do some kind of movement. Something more than moving from room to kitchen to couch to car. Luckily, Fit TV has all sorts of options, of which I've DVR'd most. This morning was Day 1. Bollywood dance workout.

Oh yes.

You can laugh. 

Me + Bollywood = not a natural mix.

As I attempted to "shimmy" and "open my self to love", I prayed that this would not be Madeleine's first memory of me. Everything shimmied except for my shoulders and when I was supposed to move my hips only, I'm pretty sure my thighs and butt decided to join the party and kept shaking long after I was done trying.

3. I don't regret keeping the dog. Let me just say that up front. I do regret leaving a couple pieces of chocolate in my purse. And then leaving that purse at home. With the dog. Flash forward to me panicking because this 13 lb dog just ate half his body weight (exaggeration) in chocolate. Maddie cries because the chocolate is now gone. She stomps in anger behind me as I frantically call the vet.

      "Animal Hospital."

      "Hi," 18-month old shrieks in the background. "I brought Bingley in a couple weeks ago (totally irrelevant) and he just ate chocolate." At the mention of the word chocolate, my daughter screams again, this time throwing herself down in misery onto the floor.

       Vet laughs. "How much?"

       I grab the wrapper and try to do the math... 2 cubes.. of a 12 cube bar... that was 3.5 oz total... "I have no idea." At this point, I've quarantined myself and the potentially dying dog into our office. Daughter is now pleading at the door for mercy and admission.

       "He should be fine," relief. "He'll probably just get really bad diarrhea or vomiting." I look at his small little beady eyes, hang up the phone and bargain with him... "don't you dare die or poop in the house."

Dog is alive. No domestic messes. And thankfully, one forgotten chocolate bar.

There's my week so far. Delightful, right?