I just got home and realized I need to start packing.
Actually, let me rephrase that.
I really need to start packing.
We’re moving soon, and every day I tell myself, “Today is the day. Today I’m going to fill some boxes. Today I’m going to make a dent in this move.”
And then somehow it’s suddenly evening, I’ve taken a nap, scrolled on my phone, thought about packing, and accomplished absolutely nothing.
To be fair, I am pregnant.
The kind of pregnant where I can sleep all night, wake up tired, and still need a nap before lunch. The kind of pregnant where walking up a flight of stairs feels like a major accomplishment. The kind of pregnant where my doctor has basically told me to sit down and stay there for the rest of this stupid pregnancy.
Technically, I’m on bedrest.
So every time I start feeling guilty about not packing, I have to remind myself that I’m literally not supposed to be carrying boxes around. My doctor’s orders and my moving timeline are currently in a fight, and neither side is winning.
Yesterday I actually left the house to meet up with one of my friends who has unofficially taken on the role of fighting my mommy brain.
We were working on baby shower invitations, which honestly deserves its own blog post.
Apparently inviting people to a baby shower requires tracking down addresses like you’re a private investigator. Half the people I messaged never responded. Some people apparently go by names that aren’t their legal names. I’ve spent days discovering that people I’ve known my entire life have government names that are completely different from what everyone calls them.
The invitations are a whole thing.
While I was out dealing with that chaos, a completely different kind of chaos was unfolding at home.
At some point in the afternoon, our neighbor called our landlord to report that Garrus had gotten out.
Now, Garrus is my roommate’s dog.
According to my roommate, while he was home, Garrus had jumped the fence from the backyard into the front yard. He managed to get him back inside, and everything seemed fine.
Then my roommate left.
Apparently Garrus was not okay with that decision.
After everyone was gone, Garrus somehow broke out of his crate.
Because it’s been ridiculously hot, I’ve been leaving the windows open with only the screens closed so the house can get some airflow.
Most dogs would probably see a closed screen and think, “Well, I guess I live here now.”
Not Garrus.
Garrus looked at that screen and saw a challenge.
This dog ripped through the screen and jumped out the window.
A window.
So in the span of a single afternoon, Garrus escaped twice.
Not because he wanted freedom.
Not because he wanted adventure.
Not because he saw a squirrel.
He was just trying to follow my roommate.
Honestly, it’s kind of sweet when you think about it. This wasn’t a prison break. It was a love story. An extremely destructive love story involving property damage, a ripped screen, a broken window, concerned neighbors, and probably a very confused landlord.
Meanwhile, I still haven’t packed a single box.
At this point, Garrus has shown more determination toward achieving his goals than I have.
He escaped a fenced yard.
He escaped a crate.
He escaped a house.
I looked at a stack of empty moving boxes and decided a nap sounded better.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll start packing.
Or maybe I’ll continue following my doctor’s orders, growing a human, and letting the dog be the most productive member of this household.
Honestly, that seems more likely.
