Tweet I've been struggling trying to come up with an idea of what to write about. I don't want to write another blog about being pregnant, or waiting to have the baby, or all the current physical discomforts I'm experiencing. It gets old and that's boring. Who wants to hear about squished bladders and acid reflux?
I could write about work, but that would just be yet another example of how the micromanager control freak is bottlenecking 80% of our projects because they're all sitting on her desk waiting for her approval. Then I'd have to launch into yet another rant about "why retain employees that you obviously don't trust can do the work you hired them for."
The Big V is working hard in a wild attempt to have every scheduled job finished by the time I go into labor... except he keeps scheduling more and more jobs, and I don't think I can hold off pushing until November. (I'm due in ten days. I'll do what I can, but there are no promises.)
Satan the dog is still eating its way through our house. On seperate recent occasions we've come home to: a shredded sweatshirt, miniblinds removed from a window and torn to bits, the trim and gate used to contain the dog in the sunroom destroyed, and an eaten wall. Yes, eaten. As in the dog ate through the wall. She got through the wood paneling (I never liked it, but I'm really not liking this new alternative), the insulation and started gnawing her way through the drywall on the opposite side of the wall (which would be the garage). Six more minutes and I'm convinced we would've had a new doggie door, whether we wanted one or not. Oh, yeah, and she scratched/tried to eat through a metal fireproof door. It's now dented and, well, scratched throughout a 2'x3' area around the bottom. It's absolutely lovely.