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So yesterday. Wow, I can’t even… just… the series of events that unfolded and where everything ended up, it all sort of falls within the boundaries of things I won’t write about, yes those boundaries do exist. Jon referred to it as the third most surreal day of 2009, and I can’t figure out the two days ahead of it on that list. A couple of weeks ago I said, hey everyone, next week? Next week we’re going to take it easy around here, okay? And then I got SHINGLES! And I was all, okay, it can’t get worse than that. Yesterday it got SO MUCH WORSE THAN THAT.

Anyway, on to the other side of those boundaries, shall we?

So it’s day eight of Mom’s Got SHINGLES! and so far Marlo shows no signs of developing chicken pox. Of course, now that I’ve written that sentence and put it out into the universe she’s going to wake up tomorrow morning with a connect-the-dot smattering of bumps on her face, and for kicks Coco will have regurgitated her own poop in the middle of our bed. Or Coco could just be sitting there existing, the difference is negligible.

Honestly, Coco is probably at the top of the list of Things That Stress Me Out, whereas living with a newborn is so far down that you’d have to turn the page to find it. Last summer we hired a fantastic trainer who came in and showed us some techniques to calm down the crazy in that dog, but then the pregnancy happened, and all this other stuff, and now we’re back to having our neighbors secretly submitting our names to be a case study on “The Dog Whisperer.” Let’s just put it this way: everyone who lives on our street knows the exact moment someone rings our doorbell.

The new policy with family and friends is everyone must call or text us before approaching the door so that I can stabilize the house for Coco’s reaction. And it’s not an aggressive one, no, it’s CRACKED OUT OH MY GOD I NEVER THOUGHT I’D SEE YOU AGAIN AND LOOK YOU’RE HERE, WHAT’S IT BEEN? A WHOLE DAY? High-pitched pig squealing and jumping three feet into the air. And the house moves a couple of inches to the left every time.

So I’m guessing that if they could scientifically trace the origin of my SHINGLES! the line would go directly back to that dog, but no. Not on your life, I’m not giving up on her. I know the kind of work that needs to be done, and we are going to do it, it’s just there are some loose ends here and there (see first paragraph) that need some tightening before we can all get into the brain space to address her problems. One thing that needs to happen, of course, is I’ve got to get over this case of SHINGLES! And that’s not going to happen if I keep doing google image searches, if ever there were an argument to be made against the existence of the Internet, HELLO IMAGE I CANNOT GET OUT OF MY BRAIN.

Also, people keep sending me horror stories, like someone’s grandfather had SHINGLES! on his face for seventeen years, and someone else had a case of SHINGLES! that ate the family cat. The absolute best thing sent to me concerning my SHINGLES!, however, was this suggestion from Julie at A Little Pregnant:

How could I not film myself doing exactly that? Is that not the most brilliant idea you’ve ever heard? Because one, it would make the pain a little more bearable, and two, in light of the recent accusations that I’m a total loon, A LOONEY LOON LOONBALL! I thought, you know what? I’ll show you a loonball! Let the train wreck continue!

Internet, this is for those of us in the throes of this crappy, itchy, at times paralyzing condition:

(Strong warning, however, if you are prone to seizures or have small children sitting nearby, you might want to close your browser and go hug a bunny.)

Music is µ-ziq Autumn Acid