Germaphobe

Day Four of Enzo’s arrival in our home has brought a new perspective for me. Actually, every hour that we have had him here has been a new awakening of sorts. I remember now how not funny the show friends is at 11 pm at night, when you are stomaching menstrual cramps and trying to encourage a puppy to sleep. I remember how hard my mother worked to keep a well-oiled machine of a household of five kids and a somewhat messy husband. And I remember all those times I wiped Davis’ hands after his eating of French fries or dittalini pasta that he picked up with his fingers.

In honor of those memories, here is what I am letting go. Sleep – that all important ingredient to my even temperament. I truly am a bear, cannot think straight when I do not get sleep. I am a light sleeper, always have been. Sleepovers scared me because I knew that while my girlfriends eventually would fall asleep at 2 a.m., I would lie awake for another hour. When I go down for a catnap, I have to plan for an hour because it takes 20 minutes for my heart to stop racing long enough to catch up with my brain that is telling it to stop and rest.

The kitchen looks as if a tornado came through and deposited the remnants of the Petsmart onto my kitchen table and floor, and took the remnants of the city dump and proudly displayed them in my mudroom. My pants are full of mud, my sweatshirts that had holes in them could possibly get bigger if I don’t get Enzo’s chewing under control. Part confession – I have washed three rugs, to eliminate the odors from Enzo’s accidents in parts of the home where I should not have allowed him to roam in the first place.

Finally, while Enzo seems rather accomplished with the pee pad and has even gone outside a few times, he still tracks some of his stream across the kitchen floor, a floor I once kept spotless so my son could crawl around on it without fears of him eating the same dirt that Enzo now consumes.

In fairness, this germaphobe stage I come by honestly. My mother was one. She might still be. In her dementia, she swept the floor for over two hours during my last visit, despite my protests that we were bringing a dog into her house, plus four kids. In fairness, she does let my sister’s dogs roam around on the first floor and I have found droppings of those dogs which I later reported to mom, and she, without hesitation, proceeded to clean up.

And as caregiver for my husband who had a bone marrow transplant, when the patient has no immume system, and you spend most of your waking hours giving care, Cloroxing the bathroom and raising a toddler, being a germaphobe was an easy call. Not so anymore.