I am not a single parent. I have a good and kind husband. My son's delight in him shows me the incredible level of devotion between father and son. And because of that devotion, my husband works very hard to take care of us. As of late, he has begun a project at work and has been working 12-14 hour days trying to complete it. On day five of his being at work during all hours of our son's awake time, I was starting to feel the weight of "doing it all": working, cooking, cleaning, child-rearing, generic gender stereotypes, etc. Add to that my son is teething.
After said day five of my temporary single parenting, I was hoping to get some things accomplished at home after work. After a ten hour day, I picked my son up at daycare and finally made it home. Home to my terrible, awful, poop-smelling home. Let me clarify, my home does not usually smell of poo, but as I walked in the door, the scent of feces was heavy in the air and my eyes fell to the dog kennel. But even before I saw it, I knew by the smell that this was not going to be an easy clean up. I found that my poor creature had been VERY sick in and outside his kennel (if that gives you any idea). There was a general splatter within a three foot radius.
I put down the car seat carrier and attempted to think through the situation, but was not having great success. That said, I opened the kennel to take my dog, Phil, outside, and he did the ol' doggie shake, flinging doo all over me and my work clothes. I managed to get him outside and tied to a tree, then headed back in for the kennel. Before entering the house, I turned to look back, hoping my make shift tie out was going to hold him. Looking back at him, he gave me a look-a look I had seen once before; three years ago, when a student I really loved was vomiting on the desks and floors of my classroom, and in between heaves, he was frantically apologizing. Of course I was not angry at the child. Nor was I angry at the dog, he clearly could not have prevented this from happening, and seeing his ears drooped against his lowered head, outside in the rain, covered in shit, I felt bad for the guy. However, the pity was not going to get my work done, so I stripped off my work clothes, put on some scrub clothes, and went outside to face the mess.
Meanwhile, every time I left my son's line of vision he started screaming. I grabbed the hose and started to wash the dog. When he was clean, I went after the kennel. Since it was 50 degrees and raining, I couldn't take my son outside with me, which meant that he was screaming outside of my line of vision, but not out of earshot. And I don't mean fussing or crying. I mean screaming, as in, sweating, flush face, sometimes holding the scream too long and doing the silent scream.
But the poop. So much poop. Must. Keep. De-pooping.
I tried to soothe him by talking to him, but was not having it. Since I knew he was recently fed and had a dry diaper, I dredged on. I scrubbed the beshatted floor hands-and-knees style to get the grout all scrubbed out. And the with the distance between the stink and my nose reaching more than friendly distances, my stomach started to turn, and my son's screaming was starting to weigh down my brain. In that moment I felt a twinge of something similar to desperation, but instantly, even in all that mess and noise, I knew that I had it good. I have a baby. I have a dog. I have house for both those things to poo in. Tomorrow, my husband will be home. The two of us can face tomorrow's disasters together. But some people have to clean up the dog poop and the baby poop on their own, and those people are deserving of gold medals and a good night's sleep. So to all the parents who are doing it alone, God bless ya.
I thought of doing that public shaming of dogs with written signs to explain their bad behaviors thing, but it didn't seem fair, he clearly wasn't trying to be a menace. However, here are some very ashamed dogs that other people have posted to the interwebs and last one isn't too far off.
Also, I had wine and oreos for dinner.
