Ah! Tackled again! 4 on 1. That makes perfect sense!

We had to kennel Sadie while we were gone for the game. I went to pick her up Sunday morning and almost went home with the wrong dog. The girl went and got "Sadie" for me when I went to get my checkbook out of the car. I came back inside and this black dog was jumping all over me, going absolutely nuts. She was moving so crazylike that I couldn't get a good look, but she seemed too fat to be Sadie. Her ears looked too short. She was too much of a spaz. So the girl was like, "She's so happy to see you! Do you need help getting her to the car?" After hesitating for a second, I was like, "Umm. This isn't Sadie." The girl looked at me like I was absolutely crazy, which made me doubt myself for a second, and then I was like, "Yeah, this definitely isn't Sadie." So the chick, who looked absolutely mortified, took faux-Sadie away and went to fetch the real one. The guy sitting at the desk was very apologetic, like I was going to sue them or something. I explained that it wasn't a big deal at all.... He continued apologizing saying the girl who fetched Sadie was new, and that perhaps he had made the mistake and not her...He told the girl to try looking for Sadie in Maggie's crate. So the girl came back with our real Sadie, and she and I went on our merry way. But... then I realized. If they switched Maggie and Sadie the previous night in their crates, that meant that Maggie, the spazo dog who originally greeted me, received Sadie's heart medication, not once, but twice. Yikes. No wonder she was going so crazy... "Get me out of this d$#@ place! They're forcing pills down my throat against my will!!"
"How could they possibly mistake fatso Maggie for cute little me?!"






I haven't figured out the rest of the acronym for PREGNANCY, but the P definitely stands for "paranoia." For example: "Is the cigarette smoke coming through my vents from the guy in the car in front of me, going to hurt the baby?!" "Are the fumes from the Sharpie I just used for .05 seconds going to harm the baby?" "The book says don't eat soft cheese that's not pasteurized. Do you think this cheese at the Mexican restaurant is pasteurized?!" I know - I know-- a little ridiculous. I'm hoping this is a first pregnancy thing, and I am sure it is a "Mary Beth needs to give this to the Lord" thing. Fortunately I haven't reached obsessive paranoia (Donald wouldn't let me get away with that), but even subtle thoughts show my independence from the Lord, and how greatly I need to depend on Him (which, ironically we are studying at church right now). Not that dependence is a magical formula for a perfect life, a perfect baby, but relying on the Lord for everything and praising Him for everything is the way to go. Today the teacher at church, Alcides Fuentes, from Nicaragua, said that we need to handle the possible and let God handle the impossible (well, I think Ruth Graham said that), and this baby is definitely my "impossible." A miracle that the Lord can totally take care of. My job is to not smoke the cigarette, not inhale the Sharpie on purpose for like a long time, and do a little research on cheese.







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