The last week or so has been completely insane. So insane, that I was actually happy to see Monday roll around--and it was the Monday that I had to start working again. When I said to myself, "Ahhh, Monday! I get to start working again with a 6-week-old infant in tow. Finally, a break," I officially realized that I'd had too much.
It was just one of those weeks. You know the type--lots of late nights with the baby, a handful of nonsensical fights with the spouse, a few too many behavioral issues from the four-year-old, and a ridiculously expensive middle-of-the-night trip to the emergency vet with an almost dead dog.
And the almost dead dog thing? Totally not an exaggeration.
But she's alive, and she's back to her same old lazy, farting self--so that's good. But she owes me a ton of money for the vet bills. I know it sounds harsh, but when you almost do yourself in with a pork chop bone fished out of the trash, you obviously have a problem with self-control--and you'll never improve if you don't take responsibility. So she owes me money, and I don't care how she comes up with it. As far as I'm concerned, she can turn some tricks with pit-bulls when she's feeling up to it--as long as they have fat wallets.
Yesterday, around 11 in the morning, my good friend from high school called. She was like, "I'm thinking of coming up to see you and the baby."
And I was like, "Oh yeah? When?"
And she was all, "I'm on my way now. I'll be there in an hour. Is that okay?"
And it was. It was fine. My friend Megan is one of the only people on the planet who can show up on very little notice and it's totally, 100% okay. Usually, when someone pops in I apologize profusely for the condition of my house, pretend to be embarrassed about it, and fake-beg for their understanding.
But no no, not Megan. When I opened the front door I was like, "Oh thank goodness you're here. The Diaper Champ is overflowing and I really need someone to empty it. And then I need to run five errands that are all twenty miles away. I was hoping you could wait in the car while I do 'em, that way I don't have to heft the car seat in and out."
And she didn't even blink. She just stepped over my piles and jumped on the diaper situation.
I love her.
And then she walked over to Maggie and looked at her sleeping in her bassinet. This was the first time they'd met and Meg was all, "Ooooohhhh! I love the way her hair stands up like that! It's so cute!"
And I was like, "That's because I just washed her head with dish soap."
"You what?" she asked.
"I said I washed her head with dish soap. I wanted her to look clean when you got here, but I didn't have time to give her a bath, so I rubbed her head down with that dish rag over there."
And guess what Megan said. She said, "Oh Amy, you didn't have to do that just for me! You could have left her greasy and I wouldn't have cared! Don't bother next time."
Please note: She wasn't appalled that I had cleaned my baby with a dirty rag and WalMart brand dish soap, she was appalled that I'd gone through all that trouble just for her.
And that is precisely why she's one of my oldest, goldest friends.
In exchange for her unconditional friendship, I bought Megan an onion bagel with bacon cream cheese and a Diet Coke.
In my universe, that's how real friends show their love.