I have three babies. Two of them have fur.
Someone once told me ‘I thought I loved my dogs, until I had my kids.” I don’t understand that sentiment. I love my pets in a different way than I love my infant, because they are different, but I still love them.
So, in order of age, here they are:
This was my first baby. The care and training of him back in 2004 was the best crash course in parenting I ever could have asked for. He was the hyperest, chewingest, stubbornest puppy I have ever seen. However, after a year of being insane he suddenly transformed into a pleasant, eager-to-please, and reliable dog. Although if I leave him alone without some food-puzzles he’s likely to get into the garbage and eat chicken bones.
Inexplicably Loved Cat
My miaow-face enjoys food, food, and more food. People don’t believe me, but if they spend any time with him, they learn fast. When he was a 12 week old kitten, PH opened the fridge to get a drink. The 1.5 lb kitten jumped into the fridge, grabbed a hunk of Gouda the size of a golf ball, and took off with it down the hall. By the time PH caught up, the kitten had removed the cellophane and devoured the entire hunk. Three years later, I left him with a friend for Christmas, with warnings about the food obsession. Apparently in the first 48 hours he was at her house, he ate into his own bag of food and a big bag of sugar.
We aren’t sure why we keep him around, except that
a) His fur feels like rabbit fur
b) He’s fun to torture by squeezing, squishing, and flubbing
c) I have some kind of maternal bond which makes me love him unconditionally, even when he tries to take green beans directly out of my mouth when I am trying to eat dinner.
Yes, he has a real name.
He was born in September of 2010, nearly two weeks overdue, after 52 hours of induced labour, with the umbilical cord around his neck. He was born determined to make my hair go grey. By one week old he was staying awake for 7 or 8 hours in a row, many of which were spent screaming. At six weeks he learned to roll over.
People generally said things like “He’s so alert!” and “Wow, he’s really strong for his age…” which I assumed translated as “Does he ever close his eyes??” and “You’re in trouble”.
When he turned one I decided that he was outgrowing the name “Babby” and asked people to vote for a new pseudonym. The overwhelming consensus was “Owl” due to the big eyes and inability to sleep.
Our newest addition is “Fritter”, so named because, well, you can read it here. She was born so quickly that there was no time for an epidural, and sleeps better than her brother, who adores her. More to come as she develops personality.