The dogs are preparing me for parenthood and it blows

THESE DOGS.

I love them, I really do, but we're having one of those weeks where I could probably trade them in for a piece of taffy and be okay with it.

The nightmare started yesterday with the Girl Dog. I was working from home, since our housekeepers were coming by. The morning went well -- both dogs kept their cool until the ladies left. Then, both Rocco and Elsie tore through the apartment in a playing frenzy. Not too unusual, so I let them get their energy out.

Thirty minutes later, when their dog walker showed up, I saw blood on the floor. And not a little drop of it, either. Like, a streak. As the walker took the Girl out, I inspected Rocco. It wasn't him.

Then I inspected the apartment. There was blood everywhere. On the hardwood floor, on the carpet and alllll over my light, fabric couch. It looked like a goddamn crime scene in here.

When Elsie was brought back in, I took her into the bathroom to contain her hemorrhaging and bandage her up. I won't bother with the details, but suffice to say it was a battle and she was pissed. But I was victorious. 

Then, I got to spend the afternoon getting blood out of my couch. A mix of dishwasher liquid and water worked wonders, even though it took a lot of blotting. Meanwhile, Elsie curled up with her sock-foot like nothing had happened.

Today brought about another special event. This time, with Rocco. And this time, with vomit.

I walked into my place after work to see my boy standing over a gigantic pile of puke on the rug. Of course, he only pukes on the rug. Our entire apartment is hardwood, but he goes to the rug. I felt bad for him because he was looking ashamed, so I told him it was okay and got ready to clean.

It. Was. Disgusting. Have I mentioned that my sense of smell is wildly sensitive? It is. I almost had to lock myself in the bathroom more than once, just to escape the stench.

After I cleaned everything up and took the trash out, guess what happened. Rocco puked again.

I SWEAR TO GOD.

Once again, I got down on the floor, battled my own nausea and cleaned up his mess. I then lit three candles, sprayed everything with odor remover and opened the windows. I know it's only 30 degrees outside, but I'd rather be cold than surrounded by that awful, awful smell.

He, meanwhile, seems to be over it.

Me? I will probably take a little longer.