nonBlog

Click here for a possibly gratuitous explanation of why my blog is called "nonBlog" and my site is titled "Ceci n’est pas un blog."

My Day, the Treadmill—Tuesday, July 31, 2007

A puppy is like a baby on fast-forward. All the stages are accelerated. The one in which the newborn comes home and cries all night and drives you to madness from sleep deprivation takes three days instead of three months. The stage in which the new addition gains the first bit of weight that makes it less likely he will suddenly decline takes ten days instead of thirty. And don’t get me wrong, I am appreciating this. Really.
 
But the fact remains that I have four beings besides myself to manage now. I have a scattered brain to begin with, but now it feels positively fractured. What do they all need today, and where the heck are they? Ava is with the nanny until four. Check. Greta is off at spy camp—she needs new pants and swim goggles—gotta pick her up at 3:00 and take her to a friend’s house. Check. Olivia is over the bridge in Marin at the horse stable and needs to be picked up at 5 after I drop off Greta and pick up Ava from the nanny. Check. Arlo is at home—when did he last poop/pee/drink fresh water? Check. And where do I have to be and what do I have to do? Am I missing a deadline? Forgetting to buy groceries/pick up the drycleaning/get the house ready to swap with the family in Bishop? Check.
 
Having Arlo is lovely. Having anything new to love, especially something new and soft to love, is always a good thing. But Arlo’s arrival has removed the last little bit of ease, the one I had managed to reserve even with three kids and a career, from my day. And it’s hard not to have a feeling or two about that.