It had to be done

What do you do when your house is a disaster?

I mean, a complete disaster.

I'm talking papers and crayons all over the table.

And floor.

Trucks, socks, and crackers behind the couch cushions.

The entire tub of Mega Blocks dumped out everywhere.

And thrown everywhere.

All toy baskets emptied and their contents thrown around the room.

The kind of mess that makes a mother's blood boil.

The kind of disaster that makes her question her existence as a stay at home mom.

The kind of mayhem that makes her think her hunter husband better be darn grateful for such a wonderful wife as she.

What's a mother to do in this situation?

I know!

 

Give the dog a bath!

One of my best ideas to date.

Because it is at this point in the evening that I have given up.

What do I care anymore?

I am all alone.

My house looks like a tornado swept through it.

I've lost all control of the children.

Now, I will try and establish my authority over the dog.

It has to be done.

I do not even remember the last time she was given a bath.

I do remember the last time I  gave her a bath.

I was 39 weeks pregnant with the youngest dude.

I asked the lumberjack to bathe her and he kept "forgetting."

Well, a new, precious, clean baby was going to be coming to our home and Mabel's mangy, smelly fur did not meet my standards.

It was a bad day.

Anyone here ever been pregnant?

Ok.

Think back to the VERY end of your pregnancy. 

You know, when you are ginormous.

And the baby is too big.

And the baby moves too much.

And the baby is downright mean and starts kicking your ribs and punching your sides.

Plus, you are really getting sick of this pregnancy business.

You feel like a ticking time bomb.

Yet, you never know if, when, or even where that time bomb will explode.

Okay.  So that's where I was at.

And Mabel was in a mood.

She decided to be defiant and would not get into the bathtub.

I was in no mood for sass, let alone sass from my dog.

So, I yelled at her.

I pleaded with her.

And I yelled at her again.

She was not going to cooperate.

Dumb dog.

Doesn't she realize that she will not win this one?

I had to lift her up and throw her into the tub.

This was very strenuous for me and my very pregnant self.

The only comforting thought I had during this ordeal was that maybe, just maybe, this would be the extra exertion I needed to send me into labor.

I had reached the point of desperation.

I was not a kind woman to Mabel that day.

I vowed to never bathe her again.

But that is just gross.

So I decided I should only bathe her when I was under no stress whatsoever.

Or 39 weeks pregnant.

And, no, it did not send me into labor.

What a waste of a day.

Mabel must have remembered our last experience.

She was completely cooperative.

She jumped into the tub herself.

She gave me no sass.

No sass whatsoever.

It was the easiest dog bath experience I have ever had.

Good girl.

I did not have to yell or plead once.

Then again, it has been quite awhile since her last bath.

Maybe the other dogs in the neighborhood were starting to talk about her behind her back.

We all knew it was time.

By now, I am sure you have all done a little math in your head and discovered that since the youngest dude is now 16 months old, that it has been 16 months and 1 week since I gave her that horrific bath.

Before you start scolding me, please take into consideration the fact that she was bathed by the lumberjack in the lakes and rivers over the summer.

So hush up.

But, we can all agree, it was long overdue.