Email

The first thing I need to say is: Thank you. In response to Friday’s post about my life-long struggle with depression and the recent events concerning the lovely Sadie I received hundreds of emails of support from people who have suffered depression, people who are dog lovers, dog lovers who have suffered depression, and many readers who are neither dog lovers nor depressives but were just concerned about my well-being. I am totally overwhelmed and comforted by the encouragement you have written my way. I cannot possibly thank you enough, and I’m currently starting the long process of responding to as many of these emails as I can.

Many of you asked whether or not I was exaggerating when I said that I was risking having someone send me nasty, judgmental email when I wrote the post, and all I can say is YOU HAVE NO IDEA how much hate mail I get on a weekly basis, mostly from people who tell me that they are wasting their time reading my website, and feel it necessary to waste more of their time by telling me that they are wasting their time. This weekend, however, 99% of the email I got was positive and uplifting, and I feel warmly welcomed into a large group of people who struggle with this disease and who are trying to make their lives better. Thank you for sharing. Your stories have touched me.

I received excellent news this weekend from the owner of the golden retriever rescue in southwest Salt Lake City who said that she and her husband were going to adopt Sadie themselves. Their own female golden retriever had passed away a few months ago, and they were looking for a suitable replacement. When I walked in with Sadie last Wednesday, she said she knew she had found the new addition to their home. This means that Sadie will have more attention, love, and snuggles than she will ever know what to do with, and she will probably pass out each night in exhaustion from all the playing she will do with the dogs being boarded in her home. After that phone call I almost ran out into the middle of the street screaming, but I was in my underwear and this is Utah and there are laws against such manic jubilation.

I spent most of the weekend nestled around my husband’s chest and up under his arm watching “This Old House Classics” and playing Klondike on the iBook. Here is a photo of Chuck moments after he pushed me out of the prime position next to Jon. Jon was really more preoccupied with Carmageddon than he was the power struggle going on between his wife and The Original Dog:

I did a lot of healing in the last few days, walking around in my ridiculously-too-small pajamas, eating banana pudding, and getting as much love as I could from The Original Dog:

We gave him back just as much love, in the form of plaque prevention and making sure that his back gums don’t see too much tarter build-up:

We also turned on the fire a couple times and watched Chuck communicate telepathically to his own personal Jesus:

I also got my hair cut, all the way off. It’s October, so I figured it was that time again to trash a perfectly acceptable hairdo. Plus, it’s always fun to make big decisions like this while under the influence of a chemical imbalance. This time, however, I couldn’t be happier that it’s all gone. Maybe that’s just my hormones talking, and I may decide next week that waking up looking like an 8-yr old boy isn’t as punk rock as it should be, but I’ve cut my hair prep time by about 4,000%, and that means I can use all that extra time to eat banana pudding and sleep.

My belly at 25 weeks. Total weight gain: The equivalent of a small beached whale.