What a fun vet visit (NOT)

Okay today was a really difficult day. I've been lacking the sleep department and my boobs still want to explode and spray milk everywhere. Trust me on this, the poor wee baby, got milked in his eyes this morning for delatching (is that even a word) and while multitasking and creating this post, I accidentally overflowed my lovely Medela bottles that are attached to my boobs as we speak. Can we say, "Yes I'm crying over spilled milk?" If you've never spilled mama's milk before, you just wouldn't understand. However, as someone who will be returning to the workforce in March, each drop of mama milk is like a bazillion golden nuggets.
So what have I done today?  I've managed to dress myself sans shower. Taken both dogs out for walks as well as remembered to feed them (yes I sometimes forget that the dogs and myself need to eat). I've dropped the oldest off to daycare in one piece. I grocery shopped with a sleeping baby who only squeaked like a little billy goat as I was paying and screeched as loud as dying hyena the whole way home. Managed to load both the kiddo and my 40 pound pitbull into my vehicle and travel across town to the vet where I met up with a nice lady to purchase some second hand clothes for my numero uno kid. The vet........hmmmmm........that was extremely difficult.
It's often difficult to take one dog to the vet. See, my dogs are both pitbulls. I know, I know, killer pitbulls and yada yada. Well no darn dog is perfect, especially not Banks. He has barked and tried to nibble a child or two at times when they screech (not my own kids though-he's practically raising these two himself). So let me set the scence for you-scary pitbull, huge 5 and a half week old son, and little old me walk into the Petstore where the vet is located. Let's rephrase, I get pulled into the petstore by the pitbull while I try to restrain him from hurling us both to an unsitely fall. We approach the reception area where a snotty British looking lady (no offense against the English) proceeds to glare at me as though I've got shit on my face while her ankle biting cocker spit on you spaniel dog yelp loudly. My buddy then tries to make his way towards the dumb dog and eat him for a snack. However, I restrained him and caught the devils eye. Then she goes away for a few. Finally we make our way up to the counter and I go to put my evil dog on the scale and she comes back. She's now standing between my handsome sleeping child and the scale where the dog and I are. She's a nitwit. I can't get to my kid with her dog there because my furry baby thinks he's a delicious champagne apertif, so what does she do, she stands there longer. After I ahem and choke a few times thinking she'd catch my drift, the dense woman proceeds not to catch anything but my "Mama bear I want to eat you for breakfast stare!" Finally, the vet tech kindly asks her to move her dumb@ss. Well not really, but in my head, that's what I heard. Eventually we proceeded into room #4 and were separated from the furry child as he had the plastic piece removed from his ear. Upon his return, he was spewing blood everywhere from an open puncture, or so I thought. After one tissue, the blood and gore was cleaned and we were sent on our merry way home. I genuinely can't forsee taking the dog and the kid to the vet ever again in my future. This is more of a job for my big burly husband.
So now we are home. The breasts have been expressed, the kid fed and changed, and I'm ready for bed (it's 3 PM), but I've got about a thousand more things to do and quite a few more hours to go, so maybe I'll just settle for some quiet time to stare at (I mean bond with) my numero dos, Bryan. At least we both survived the majority of this beautifully sunny day!

Banks (my furry kid) and Bryan (my non furry kid)