Monday 05 October 2015
Logan had ‘the snip’ on Friday. Despite the myriad of health benefits people threw at me for the pro-neuter argument, the decision was still horrible to make (it took me three phone calls to commit to booking a date!) and meant that for most of Friday I felt guilty and worried about what he’d be like when I went to pick him up after work. I had imagined a sulky shadow of his former self. Though, I needn’t have worried quite so much.
I recruited my sister to come with me and collect him expecting him to be lethargic and dozy as the literature had suggested and imagining it may take two of us to get him into the car. Instead, a couple of minutes after arriving we heard a familiar bark and a thud as he threw himself against the other side of the consultation room door, ready to greet us. A crack appeared as the member of staff on the other side of the door struggled to call us through while holding Logan back and I didn’t know whether to panic that he was so desperate to escape or worry that, as of yet, there was no visible difference in our wild dog.
Thankfully he didn’t seem to hold a grudge, jumping all over me with his usual overly excitable puppy greeting as we squeezed our way into the consultation room. I didn’t quite know what to make of his reaction but even the vet seemed impressed that he’d “woken up dancing”. We drove him home, him in his usual position (leaning out the window, tongue hanging out and barking at children, dogs and other passers by) and me in mine (ducking my head behind the steering wheel in shame). He was fine. Phew!
Though when we arrived home we found that the little fidget couldn’t leave his stitches alone so quickly whipped out the buster collar from the vet and managed to fairly easily coax him into it…
Needless to say, once he realized what we had done he was less than pleased about his new accessory. He spent the first 10 minutes or so frozen to the spot gazing up at us with his big brown button eyes, his best impression of a puppy dog. I think he was hoping that it was a cruel joke and would be removed as hastily as it had been placed on. When it wasn’t he followed us (slowly) into the living room, pausing every time he grazed a wall or surface to be absolutely sure he couldn’t guilt us into changing our mind. Eventually he reached the awkward challenge of squeezing between sofa and coffee table and decided rather than conquer it he would root himself to that patch for the rest of the night.
We managed careful play, a bit of a cuddle and some wriggly, fidgety attempts at a nap. It seemed as though he may have been getting used to the dreaded collar. Until bed time when the sleepy Logan we (normally) know and love left and a howling, yappy nuisance replaced him. The most sleep I managed was by convincing him to jump into the spare bed with me and stroking him to sleep and even this was punctuated by attempts to remove his collar by scratching at it or aggressively running into the bedroom walls and doorframe.
Needless to say by the time 7am on Saturday morning came around and our fidgety alarm clock refused to let us have another wink of sleep, both Mark and I were shattered and had a full day of pram shopping looming over us. Though thankfully, we also had my brother to dogsit!
It didn’t take me long to realize that if I had thought I was sleepy pre-pram shop then I had been dillusional.
We walked into Mothercare feeling excited and a little more energetic. Cooing at tiny baby socks and giggling at ‘Superbaby’ playsuits. Five minutes of just glancing at prams and we were already confused and had to recruit the help of a very cheery assistant to talk us through the features and essentially tell us what we were looking for.
We watched them demo a good looking mothercare model with carrycot, pushchair and car seat for less than £200. Not bad. Until they revealed the car seat couldn’t be used with an isofix base. Flashbacks of spending more time than I’m willing to admit (with three of us helping!) trying to strap our niece into the back of Mark’s car made us back away quicker than you could say ‘travel system’. And so began the onslaught of information about new car seat laws and all the different options we could buy and which was relevant to current and new law. Suddenly – just one shop in – I was desperate for a nap. Who knew there was so much complexity in a pram? OR so much cost!! One model that we hastily breezed past was in excess of £1000! For a pram!
Skip to Sunday and after an early morning check up at the vet (for Logan) we were firmly planted on the sofa. Agreeing (silently, but mutually) on a sofa day to recover from the lack of sleep, overwhelming amount of information and several trips back and forth to the car laiden down with demo prams to see if they would fit in the boot!
We peppered weekend TV and movies with talk of prams and settled on what we wanted and despite the lovely relaxing day, also managed to mutually agree on climbing into bed by 9pm.
Again, fast forward and Monday morning was here – quicker than I was happy about – and despite around 9 hours sleep I still found myself wanting to throw my phone/alarm against the wall as it interrupted a dream. I quickly calculated, while manoeurvring my achy body around the bedroom in a Quasimodo-esque fashion, how many hours it would be until I could get back into bed but not before acknowledging the love-hate relationship I had briefly started to feel for pregnancy.
If this is how my pregnant body copes with a couple of sleepless nights I dread to think what I’ll be like when the baby arrives!! Roll on a nice (post Great British menu – of course!) early night.