But I'm back! And chipper as hell.
I worked like a freak to prepare for our company's conference this past week, and then immediately got sick as soon as my presentations were over. That's how I do things. I get all worked up inside and work and work and work and then the minute the stress is over I have a let-down period that results in illness. Happened on my honeymoon. Let me tell ya, my husband was thrilled with his bride. I spent the first three days in Jamaica laying in bed while my husband got drunk on pina coladas on our balcony.
As soon as conference was over on Wednesday I picked up my dog from the vet, dropped him off at home, picked up my daughter from daycare, came home and tended to her until she went to bed, and then I crashed. I slept from 7:30 p.m. straight until 6:00 a.m. the next morning when Hannah woke up. After realizing I had a sore throat and a headache that felt like a bird hatching from my head, I decided to call into work. Hannah and I slept in my bed until 9:00. Then I took her to daycare, came home, and slept until 11:30 a.m. My headache finally left after I indulged in a little Starbucks somewhere around 3:00 p.m. yesterday. But the sleep was glorious. I feel like a brand new woman.
Hopefully Benson feels like a brand new dog in a good way eventually. Poor buddy had tumors that the vet thought needed to be removed. We were pretty sure one was just a fatty lump (and for some time we referred to Benson as "Fatty Lump") but then things got un-funny when a new bump appeared on his leg a few weeks ago. It appeared to be bothering him and it was harder than the fatty one, so I took him to the vet and they extracted a little sample, looked at it under the microscope, and advised us to have it surgically removed. So, a few days and a million dollars later, Benson has his skin stapled together in two places and is lump-free.
He's not happy. I can tell it hurts and he wants to chew it off, but every time he goes near it I yell. It's like a mean game we play. I don't want to get him one of those head cone satellite-looking things because, for pete's sakes, he needs to maintain a little dignity. But I might wrap it in a t-shirt if he keeps messing. I just hope the sketchy tumor turns out to be nothing. As much as I complain about his shedding, stench, and inability to tell the difference between the outdoors and my dining room floor, I will miss him when he's gone.
|Our fuzzy buddy|