Washing the dog, washing the dog

In an e-mail exchange with a good friend of mine whom I hadn't caught up with in a while, he posed the following question: "On a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being 'not at all' and 10 being 'like, ridiculously,' how much has his arrival changed your life?"

Some days, it doesn't feel all that drastic. Hectic, a little crazier, but still manageable.

And then there are nights like tonight.

Today was Baby's first day with his new nannyshare set up, which we're thrilled to have found and which seems to be going well (knock wood). But still, I've learned that transitions from any form of daycare to another is hard, at least on the mother.

So it was a bit of a day as it was. But as I returned, unloading the 18 bags I now seem to travel with at all times (diaper bag, work bag, purse, breast pump, bag o' bottles to be cleaned and re-stocked, and in tonight's circumstance, a Babies 'R' Us bag and yes, that nectar of the gods, one (empty) Dunkin' Donuts bag and cup of D&D coffee), I stopped in my tracks immediately after I parked Baby in the living room. What ... is ... that ... smell?

Like every new mom, the immediate instinct is to shove one's nose into the diaper region. But in this case, nothing. Odd.

I then began the fool's quest of Where-Is-That-Smell-Coming-From?, which is a futile effort at best that at worst leaves you hyperventilating.

As I was crawling around the living room, sniffing this and smelling that, C. came in. I barely got in a "Hi, honey!" before I immediately enlisted him in my quest.

"Wait! Hold still! There it is!" I exclaimed.

Just then, the dog stopped in his tracks, and looked at us. C. immediately started giving him the nose over, and moments later, our culprit was identified.

Here's the odd part: Somehow, our basement door blew open during the day, not only leaving the house wide open and vulnerable, but allowing our dear (and very indoor) cat and dog to roam the neighborhood at their leisure.

During Wondermutt's adventures, he obviously found something very attractive, and likely very dead, to roll and flop around in. And then brought it back to the house (thankfully that he returned, not so much for the smell). And then proceed to lay on the rug. And the couch. And yes, on our bed. The pillows, specifically.

So, our evening, which should of consisted of play with baby, eat dinner, talk, go to bed, has now expanded to the following:

1. Watch and entertain baby.
2. Wash dog.
3. Sniff dog. Realize there are still miles to go to remove Eau de Dead Thing.
3a. Lather, rinse, repeat.
4. Continue entertaining baby, who's not so interested in dog's hygiene.
5. Drag hair dryer into kitchen.
6. Blow dry dog.
7. Alternate between entertaining baby who's not so interested in dog's hygiene and keeping now-quasi-dry dog off of the bed he so wants to lay on.
8. Strip bed.
9. Wash and dry comforter.
10. Change Baby's and Daddy's clothes, after Baby projectile vomits on Daddy while waiting for comforter and dog to dry.
11. Laugh at dog's frizzy 'do (talk about your bad hair day).
12. Light candle to try to exorcise dead thing stench that's now mixed with wet dog smell.
13. Marvel at how the Yankee Candle Company hadn't thought of Christmas Wreath Dead Thing Wet Dog scent all on their own.
14. Get Baby ready for bed.
15. Put Baby to bed.
16. Eat pizza that C. had kindly made, even after having to wash the dog and comforter.
17. Try to find humor in the fact that even with the best of intention of trying to clean up a bit, the house now looks worse than when we arrived home. But at least everyone is home, safe and sound.

From three steps to 17. Or, on the factor scale, "Like, ridiculously." Yep, that seems about right.