Doggo Dreams

Hello All, 

Once again after a stressful and hectic week at work, I come home and relax my Friday night away only to be awoken on Saturday morning at 6.20am. Listening to my new addition cry and whine downstairs I knew there was only one thing for it. The puppy trauma through bedtime routines and trying to keep our little Frankenstein happy in his own company is still an almighty issue. I suppose naively I thought that our issue would be toilet training or yapping and barking, and whilst the latter is an issue, it is rarely present. Unless of course, you leave him alone for an eighth of a second. 

Mind you I have never had a puppy. I remember as a child begging and pleading my parents to buy me a puppy. In fact, I am pretty sure that I even settled for a dog as I got a little older but every year sure is to be sure there would be a canine companion at the top of my birthday and Christmas list. I longed for one so bad that eventually, my parents gave in. 

We called her Trixie and she was a chocolate Labrador. Looking back I am not entirely sure how old she was when we got her but I know that she was still a boisterous pup. I think I remember my parents telling me that she had come from a rescue home, although I am not certain on. All I know is that she stayed with us a while before we had to give her away. My brother was very small, still a baby himself really and I think that Trixie had taken it on herself to make him part of her pack. As a result whenever he would cry she would come running, although she very rarely left his side and always slept under his pinstriped blue and white baby bouncer. As time went by she grew to growl if anyone went near him and snarled if anyone even dared to pick him up, even if he was blind crying. 

One day as my baby brother began to whimper I went as any big sister to make sure he was OK. I must have only been about six or seven at the time but as I went to pick him out of the baby bouncer he was in to comfort him Trixie lost it and went to bite me, narrowly missing my face. She caught me though and in a bit of a fright more than anything I started to cry. There was blood where she had nicked my nose as she has snapped up at me and it was at that moment I think my parents took the executive decision that Trixie needed to be rehomed. This time we had been lucky but if any more blood had been drawn then she may have gotten a taste for it and then she would have no chance at her happily ever after home as she would have to be put down. That was the least of the families worry as what would have happened if she had turned on the baby and snapped at him next time. 

And so that was the end of my first encounter with owning my own dog, or at least a little. All throughout my late teens and twenties (so far at least) when I gradually gained more independence and got a serious boyfriend and a house I thought and even chatted with him about getting a pup to complete our little set-up. I mean I should have really seen he was no good for me when he told me he didn't really like doggo's and certainly didn't want one as a pet. 

After that relationship fell apart (not for the lack of dog ownership I must say) I moved on and after getting my own little bachelor pad in the centre of Bedford I craved some furry company and a little man in my life that wasn't as much hassle as some of the dates I went on. I thought it would help with me meeting new people and making friends and maybe more. But alas the one-bed top floor penthouse had no balcony and thus I was not allowed one by my landlord. And then I met Mr Warehouse and his beloved pup and the rest is history. 

They say you have your first one, the golden child (quite literally in our case) and they are an absolute dream. Sleeps well, doesn't cry, good by themselves, not bothered by anything and generally a happy baby, or in our case a happy pooch. My Step-Dog is not phased by anything and takes the world in her stride, people knocking at the door, maybe the occasional gruff, but fireworks? No problem. Potty training? Don't sweat it! Motorbikes and strange loud noises? Pffft! Children and other dogs? No bother. Left alone? Happy to have her own company. 

Therefore you are lulled into a false pretence that your next one will be just as easy. Just like with babies, Mr. Warehouse grabbed the opportunity a few weeks ago to make our family four paws bigger and finally my dream of having a little furry baby came true. I would have said that having Frankenstein is a little like being a parent, so I am told. He is sometimes a nightmare, OK most of the time, but his love and affection is growing and our bond is getting stronger by the day and I am sure that we will have the relationship I have always dreamt of ... Just need to let him know its OK to be alone sometimes!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Ready?!

Good evening, 

So a thought occurred to me this weekend. Am I ready? Looking at Mr. Warehouse on Friday evening after a few hours in the park wearing out his Niece's and Nephew's, my beloved other-half sat relaxed on the sofa with the littlest of three children, all seemingly pooped from the exertion. Difference is that only a few moments earlier I was cradling a crying baby with no clue as to why it was upset. Was it hungry? No I was trying to feed it and the milk was not being graciously received. Was it soiled? Nope checked that - Five times. Was it hot? Not sure so I took off some layers. Was it tired? I don't think so as every time I put it down it cried and screamed even more. Did it want to be held? Refer back to being laid down. Was it sad? Probably. 

To be fair I have no clue and zero experience when it comes to children. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb are both bemused and concerned with my lack of motherly instinct and general attitude towards children. The amount of times I have said to myself and others that "It'll be different when its my own" and all along I was kidding myself because now, I am actually starting to wonder if it is a false lie that other parents say when your just not ready for kids. 

I look at my own childhood, because I imagine that is where it starts. I was an only child up until I was about five and that is when my brother came along. Little as he always was to me, he was my little Bro and I was furiously protective over him, right up until the moment I was kicked out. Even to this day I find myself defending him and explaining that there must be a reason for some of his strange and sometimes hurtful actions. Growing up though, other than my brother, I never had any real hands on contact with babies or smaller children. My mother was told that after my siblings difficult birth another pregnancy could be the end of her and so it was just the two of us. 

When I was in my mid-teenage years, rocking out to My Chemical Romance and Enter Shikari, along came the first of three cousins, all in a quick succession of one another. With them all approaching their early adolescence I am sometimes put to shame with how much they know already. Sex Education is starting earlier, as is Drugs talks in Personal, Social, Health and Educational studies. At their age I though weed was some kind of plant that your grandma hated and would make you pee the bed if you picked it. I suppose it is education of a generation so as not to make the mistakes their parents may have made. 

I have very few friends that are single and ready to mingle, not that I am of course. Most of the people I know are with someone long term and either getting on the property ladder, having children or getting hitched. But I question sometimes if I am ready for all of that commitment. In fact, looking through social media, I have very few school friends that have not gone on to have children young. Now this is not a blast to young moms, and dads, ho have had their children whilst young themselves. Hey good luck to you, because my limited experience of looking after children, and within that the sparse moments I have had looking after children on my own, I question honestly how it can and is done. Only a handful of people in my friends list have a university degree, or have travelled extensively. Most of them without kids just poodle on through life, fixing up their room with new Instagram style photo-walls and tweeting about how the morning jog was just the best. 

Thinking about it life is great without kids! I am far too selfish, self-obsessed and consumed by moi to have children yet. People have said that "children will be the making of you and all your narcissism will melt away once you have babies" but I doubt it. I will have to wait and see what the future holds but right now there is a world to explore and a whole cupboard of alcohol under my sink that needs t be drunk ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Welcome To My Inate Fear Of Children ...

Hello, 

And so I am home, back in Blightly where it has rained at least once a day for every day I have been back. But lets start from the beginning shall we. The evening following the Chinese calamity, The Tweedles and I headed to somewhere a bit fancier for dinner, and this time I got some change. After spending the following remainder of the holiday frolicking by the pool, enjoying long beach tanning sessions and trying in vain to haggle for a faux handbag I was starting to feel the lull that is missing home. I did not realise this at first but I soon thought how nice it will be to get back to reality, back to my desk and back to the dog. Oh and Mr. Warehouse of course. Whilst I was missing the creature comforts of my little one-bed, there are many other things that come from a holiday abroad with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb, majority of them good. 

You can almost certainly predict that along with the holiday staples of a night out getting pissed somewhere, bugs, a market day trip and boating excursions, there will also be arguments. Sometimes its about how grey the McDonalds is, sometimes its about who wouldn't come and look at a handbag with me or sometimes it was over the floor in the bathroom being wet. Either way I thought I had managed to have a holiday without the raised voices and hours of stubborn silences, that was until we left to catch the transfer bus. Of course I say we in the loosest of terms as I was not part of said 'we' since Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb headed to the transfer bus without me, not saying anything at all. After a few heated words and some attempts at making good of the situation in hand we arrived at the airport and boarded our very, very late flight home. Obviously I am over it now and I am sure, as with most of our arguments, we can laugh about them later in life. 

Arriving home at three-thirty in the morning and trundling down the path to the flat, trying to be quiet but my cases were making as much noise as they could against the cemented gravel. I soon heard a familiar growl, deep and menacing. It was my darling pooch; Well, half adopted-mine anyway. At least I could say that if there was an intruder then she was doing her job, guarding her home and mine. Coming through the house, making as little commotion as possible not to wake Mr. Warehouse I gave a big cuddle to the dog and climbed into bed besides my boyfriend. The following morning (or maybe just a few hours later) I awoke briefly with a kiss on my forehead as Mr. Warehouse headed out to work with promises of seeing each other that evening. 
"Remember you have a driving lesson at ten" Mr. Warehouse said as he headed out the door. Rolling over I muttered something of a goodbye and fell into a deep sleep.

Phone blaring I went to turn off my alarm in the next room, only to hear a voice as I turned back towards the bedroom. It was my driving instructor. 'Fuuuuuuuuuuuu' I thought. Answering back to the familiar voice I lied about not forgetting, throwing on some clothes and heading out to the awaiting vehicle. The lessons? They're going well. I have finished learning most things now, including a three-point-turn, parellel parking and reversing round a corner. I can now after my last lesson on Friday morning add into the mix learning what and how to do an emergancy stop. They are kinda exhilerating and fun, but I am almost certain that given a situation in real life whereby it would need to be used I wouldn't feel so "pumped" afterwards. 

Enjoying my day off Mr. Warehouse soon returned home and we talked of my holiday and how even still, my phone is not fixed. If anything it has got worse. Since last weeks post, not only does it shut down, restart and freeze automatically it also conducts a full factory reset without authorisation which, in turn, deletes everything in its path - Music, contacts, Apps and holiday photos. All. Gone. So as Mr. Warehouse and I discussed our plans for the weekend we decided we would go and visit Momma Warehouse and the new edition to their family. Mr. Warehouse's newest nephew was a week old and had been born whilst I was away holidaying it up and drinking cocktails by the beach. 

So after a whole day of waiting and hearing back about how Samsung were going to fix my beloved Samsung Galaxy Note4, we headed back to Marston Mortaine, Starbucks and Krispy Kreme in hand. The following day had been dedicated to seeing the newborn baby boy. Would this one day be my nephew rather than just Mr. Warehouse's? I don't know but with Mr. Warehouse in the knowledge already with how unpractised I am around children he relayed this through to his mother on the walk over, explaining in detail the physical restrictions I go through whilst in the presence of a young human. 

I don't know what is wrong with me. My family never really had babies around as my brother was the youngest for a long while and when my cousins were born I wasn't really around a huge amount when they were tiny, tiny. All I need is the gurgle or a creak of a babies cry and I am on edge. I think it is the fact that they could cry at any moment. And they're only a baby so they can't tell you whats wrong. I mean you wouldn't get a week-old-child saying "Excuse me mother but my bottom is wet and I am afraid I may have shit myself. I will require either yourself or some other poor soul ro empty this sack of mine and replace with a fresh one, and none of this leaving me to roll around waiting for you to get your crap together, organise the nappy-station before commencement of operation poopy-nappy." It will just cry. And cry. And cry. And cry. Nothing will console the child. Mr. Warehouse and other more experianced personel tell me that I should approach a crying babe as a matter of elimination in four simple steps. 
1. Is it wet/squishy-bottomed: If yes - Change its bum. If no - Move to question 2.
2. Is it hungry: If yes - Feed it. If no - Move to question 3.
3. Is it  sad or upset: If yes - Cuddle it. If no - Move to question 4.
4. Is it  tired: If yes - Cuddle it and try to put it to sleep. If no - Start process again.

Sounds simple but in reality would it really work? Truth be told, I don't know as when presented with said newborn it was asleep and continued to be throughout the duration of our encounter. I was completely rigid until  the moment it was out of my arms. I think I need to work on my relaxation around babies. They're like horses right; They can smell fear? I was certainly fearful but whilst I looked after this tiny, tiny baby in my arms, sleeping soundly, I did think about my life. I am now of an age where drinking so heavily that you end up outside a nightclub, hair a mess, missing one shoe and throwing up into an ashtray is unacceptable behaviour. Equally though whilst I reluctantly need to accept that my late-teens and early-twenties days of drinking the weekend away in a blind haze of Jagerbombs and Sambuca shots, I don't know if I am fully ready for settling down and starting to build the foundations of a future family life. Not going to lie though, I knew as I looked into Mr. Warehouse's eyes as he held his new nephew the he was getting broody and suddenly it wasn't me who was watching their fertility-watch. Not going to lie though, I did enjoy the cuddles. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx