Prozac-Mack, Second Child, & Language Schmanguage

My dog might be a Prozac lifer. Those words are physically painful for me to say.

I didn’t anticipate being a person who medicated their dog daily, but then said dog destroyed 1 couch, 3 bedding sets, 6 pillows, 1 dog bed, and 1 metal crate.

It’s like a really expensive, depressing version of the Very Hungry Caterpillar.

I finally took him to the vet today who basically said, “Yea, that sucks…but it probably won’t get better. Here’s some Prozac and a month’s supply of sedatives to give as-needed.”

Aside from the fact that we miiiight have overdosed him the first day (like, his legs didn’t work and he ran into walls)…

…day 1 went ok.

So unless we find a family with a lot of land and other dogs wants to take in a very sweet, severely anxious dog…he’ll be mildly sedated from now until eternity. Assuming his legs continue working in the process. If not, we’ll move to plan Q.

Bless him.

Second Child

Aside from almost killing our dog, this past week we also:

| put offers on 2 different houses (neither worked out…so over house hunting)
| cyber-met a literary agent who gets the book idea and seems excited (hooray! and gulp.)
| battled the whininess of 2 year molars (do we really need all that many teeth?!)
| hit the third trimester for the Hut Man

Poor second child. Hasn’t even had his name announced on the blog. I can assure you, we love you anyway, lil buddy.

…better late than never, I suppose…

We present to you Hutton Smith. Hut Man, Hutton Button, Hutt Butt, Chicken-legs Hut.

(Or, rather, I present my cute maternity shirt with a baby Hutton underneath somewhere.)

I’ll dive into the details of the Smith name in another post. Not only is it a family (last) name, the Smith clan is one of the greatest groups of people around. I am so excited to be able to name our second little man after their legacy.

But, since the Hut’s personality or appearance isn’t super tangible yet, let me just tell you about the recent antics of his older brother.

Language, Schmanguage

We’re full-force into 2-year-old language land and it. is. hilarious. And embarrassing.

I mean, the dude has opinions now that he can verbally express. I’m just not sure about all of that.

At Arby’s the other day I said, “Buddy, you’re TOO BIG! How did you get so big?!” He looked back at me with his sweet little face and yelled, “No MOMMY is too big. Mommy can’t fit in the car!!” …to which I just looked around the restaurant and smiled, hoping the other patrons didn’t see the two empty beef n’ cheddar wrappers in front of me.

His other favorite phrases are, “You kiddin me?!” and “MOMMY STOP TALKING”.

We’ve also hit the unnecessary bandaid stage for, you know, non-existent injuries. Or newly discovered nipples. None of which need medical attention, but when those big ole 2-year-old crocodile tears come, you have no choice but to oblige.

The dude is funny.

So. When all else fails over the next few weeks, like when we are homeless or go broke from the prescription medication for our mentally unstable dog, at least our boys will keep us entertained.