I’ve felt a little absent from the blogging world lately – things been have, umm, a bit frenetic here. While I try to relish the waning days of summer – baking berry crumbles, eating tomatoes like apples, biking and kayaking – amidst frantically preparing to teach my first law school class, going to court and handling all manner of client needs. I’ve been distracted and a bit scattered. And in the meantime, I’ve grown a bump big enough to get me a seat on public transportation and made it (almost!) to 24 weeks. SIX holy-hell-can-you-believe-it-my-math-must-be-wrong MONTHS. It all feels a little (a lot) surreal.
And in my harried chaos, I missed something – and it had nothing to do with Miley I-am-the-worst-nightmare-of-what-your-daughter-could-become Cyrus. Although it may not have made it to the front page of CNN – such is the apparent appeal of twerking – it was serious. You guys: I missed National Dog Day. I know what you’re thinking: COLOSSAL.
If you’ve been here before, you know that C and I have a dog – a black lab named Luna. Of course, many of us in the infertile set have pets, lest we go lacking in a substitute for our unfulfilled parental affections. We anthropomorphize our dogs and our cats, showering them in the helicopter parenting that will – if everything works out – soon enough smother our human infants.
And then, when we get pregnant, we begin to imagine how our future child will interact with the bundle of barking fur that has only recently been evicted from the foot of the bed. We read up on ways to introduce these two creatures – give the dog access to the nursery/don’t give the dog access to the nursery, let her smell the new furniture, bring home a baby blanket from the hospital with the newborn’s scent,
put them in a
crib together and let them work out their issues, seriously-Cesar-Millan-you-are-confusing-me.
We (or is it just me?) imagine how they’ll interact with one another – all the
extra food the dog will get as the baby shoves it’s dinner onto the floor, how
one day we’ll catch the baby gnawing on a Kong, or the dog, sleeping soundly in
the crib. It all sounds magical – and, you know, terribly unsanitary. Basically
ALL OF THIS TIMES ONE THOUSAND.
When I was born, my parents had a golden retriever – a heck of a dog who tolerated as much tail pulling, ear tugging and attempts to ride her like a pony that toddler Sarah attempted. Of course, she had her revenge, too – routinely hiding every one of my toys under the couch. Sisterly love, etc.
And it was these memories – and C’s of his own childhood golden retriever – that we keep returning to. Because – I swear I’m winding up to something, this is just surprisingly emotional so, <pulls it together> bare with me – we’re not sure whether Luna will get to grow up with the baby.
A couple years ago, we found out that Luna – our spunky, stubborn, stuffed animal loving five year old pup – had a congenital kidney defect. So we paid for special food, cursed ourselves for not buying “doggie health insurance” (I can still hear how hard we laughed when the prospect was floated by our vet – so young! so naïve!), and dropped her off for a doggie ultrasound. The truth is that she was doing remarkably well – until last month.
Last month, when we found out that her numbers were up, that we would need to give her IV fluids subcutaneously every other day, along with a cocktail of gel caps and pills. We declined the gentle offer of a kidney transplant – because apparently yes, that’s a thing – and we spent many nights snuggling with her, a
bit lot teary.
And so here we are, hoping just that Luna gets to meet our baby boy. That they have a couple Kodak moments, a little romp, a little affection. We know that might be all we get, but we’d still be pretty psyched.
In the meantime, Luna has already established her impending jealousy and baby dominance.
|(yes, those are what you think they are)|
 Except of course, not. Because, you know, real news like Syria, Miley Cyrus, Egypt, Miley Cyrus, affordable higher education, Miley Cyrus, March on Washington anniversary, Miley Cyrus, etc.
 Please don’t make me write the words “fur babies.” It makes me cringe and picture a human baby to whom a bunch of bear fur has been glued. (And yes, I did do a google image search in a valiant effort to regale you with an illustration but no, the interwebs does not share my very warped brain. Bad internet!)
 Seriously, you should watch that. A giant dog licks a baby’s nose clean after it sneezes. Another baby gnaws on the face of a docile golden retriever, because, you know, kisses!
 Which was unsurprisingly distinct from the many wandings her mama had. She did return with a shaved belly though. So she had that going for her.
 Going to just go ahead and admit that jamming a needle into the scruff of my stoic dog was less fun than I imagined.
 Which C will not let me touch because Pregnant! Toxic! BACK AWAY.
 I blame the hormones. C has no excuse.