Had an upsetting experience this evening. I took my dog out for an evening walk, just down the street a block or so to an empty lot where the dog likes to pee. We had turned around at the corner and were walking back on one side of the street. Approaching on the other side were two teen-aged girls (maybe 13-15 years old) walking three dogs: a golden retriever and a black lab, both on leashes held by the two girls, and a dachshund who wasn't on a leash. As they approached, the younger of the two girls exclaimed at my dog, "Oh, look, a husky!" I was launching into my usual speech ("No, he's a Shiba Inu, like a miniature Akita, they're the most common dog in Japan, blah, blah, blah), when suddenly the retriever ripped her leash from the older girl's hands and came barreling full speed across the street at us. Maerlyn (my dog) has always been protective of me and, several times when loose dogs have approached us, he has placed himself between the other dogs and me (which usually means I have to then drag him behind me and try to put myself between the dogs). Of course he charged to the end of his leash to meet the oncoming dog. I dragged him behind me, trying to put myself between the two dogs to give the girls time to come grab their dog. But the retriever was determined to get to Maerlyn. As we turned in circles, with me yelling at the retriever to stop and back off, she pounced on him, biting the back of his neck (he, meanwhile, was flailing and snarling at her). I managed to pull him out from under her and turn away, to find the other girl sitting in the middle of the street with her arms around the lab, trying to keep him from joining the fray. I have no idea if he had actually pulled loose from her or not. Maerlyn and the dachshund, meanwhile, were snarling at each other. When I turned back to make sure those two didn't get into it, I saw that the older girl had gotten hold of the retriever. Both girls were apologizing profusely as Maerlyn and I walked out of harm's way. About half a block up the street, I stopped to check Maerlyn and make sure he was OK. He was damp on one side of his neck from the retriever's slobber when she grabbed him, but it didn't seem that she had punctured his skin or anything (thank goodness for a super-fuzzy dog). He seemed pretty amped up, energy-wise, but didn't seem any the worse for wear. I, on the other hand, was a complete wreck. I managed to get the two of us up onto our driveway and walking up the sidewalk to the front door before I started to cry. It just scared me so much. I am very protective of my dog, and I felt like I wasn't able to protect him and that he'd escaped injury through luck and not through my actions. I can just picture my big fat pregnant self trying to keep between the two dogs. And of course the realization that I could have been hurt and potentially the baby as well (if I had fallen or something) didn't make it any better. I had my husband check over the dog once we got into the house, to make sure he really was OK. It took me about five minutes of shaky crying before I calmed down. It just made me feel really vulnerable.

Of course, after I calmed down it occurred to me that the excitement and adrenaline of the whole event could have made me go into labor. That doesn't seem to have happened (since it's been a couple hours now and I haven't had any contractions or anything). But it was pretty darned intense, and I'd like to avoid that kind of excitement for a while.

I have seen my future, and it involves a lot of housework.

I am the world's worst housewife. Pretty much since we moved to Montana, I've had ample time at home, time that I could have been spending making my house a sparkly clean paradise.

But no. I am one of the laziest people I know. Even though there may not be a single worthwhile thing on TV, even though I've watched all our DVDs a thousand times, even though I'm bored out of my mind, I will still sit there, watch TV, watch movies, read books that I've read many times before, rather than get off my butt and do a lick of housework.

Before we moved, I excused myself by considering how much work I had to do that was related to school and coaching, and how tired I was when I got home. Also, we didn't have a dishwasher, we didn't have storage space, and our house was a piece of crap, so I didn't feel that bad about letting the clutter and mess permeate the place. Why take care of it when it wasn't all that great to begin with?

But now, I have no excuses. I have a nice dishwasher, closets and a garage, and no fulltime job. I have plenty of time to spend working on my house, and plenty of places to put things when I put them away. And yet I still sit on the couch all day like a lump.

Now, these last few weeks I've had a little bit of an excuse, since I'm at the end of my pregnancy and having a hard time getting around. But there are still things I could be doing, like putting things in closets and drawers rather than leaving them piled up on countertops. And putting dishes in the dishwasher. And all those sorts of things.

Well, as we've let the house get cluttered up, we've had more to deal with than ever, with all the baby paraphernalia that we are collecting. Clothes, bottles, blankies, toys, furniture...there are piles of baby things everywhere. And now we're struggling to keep up. All the stuff needs to be washed and put away. We're trying to decide where things need to go, and not everything has a home yet. So the house is more cluttered and messy than it has ever been before. Coupled with our basic things, like piled up dishes and mail that needs to be put away, and we've got a disaster of epic proportions.

So, I guess I need to get better at housekeeping IN A HURRY, or we'll never dig ourselves out. I'd hate to misplace the baby in the mess and not be able to find him.