C’s third week in this world is a blur to me now, but one moment does stand out.
It is 3am and I am nursing our little guy in a sleep-deprived idiot stupor. I finish up, dim the lights (with the handy remote control dimmer my smart husband installed) and get up to put C down in his crib. Something falls to the ground with a *clink,* but I can’t see it and frankly, at 3am, a bomb could go off next door and nary so much as an eyebrow would have raised. The only things that matter: Sleep. Bed. No more consciousness.
The next morning, I am sitting in the rocking chair nursing C again and I spy something black and twisty on the floor. It is C’s umbilical cord, which had been hanging by a thread on his belly button for a lot longer than expected. Well good, I think. It’s about time that thing fell off. I’ll pick it up when I’m done here.
Just then, our dog Murphy (who had been shell-shocked since the arrival of this new, screaming demon) sniffs in the direction of the umbilical cord on the ground. “No, Murph!” I snap, probably a little too harshly. He slinks out of the room and I return my attention to nursing.
Minutes tick by. C is still eating when I notice that Murph is back in the general vicinity of the fallen umbilical cord, and he is chewing. And chewing. Something very rubbery is in his mouth and he appears to be enjoying it thoroughly.
“Drop it!” I yell, but it is too late. The dog has unceremoniously eaten our son’s umbilical cord. We are now officially one with our dog.