So far, I've got a dog but not a baby....

Alright, let's get back to having our eyes on the prize here people...in less than a week (ok well the exact time is STILL undetermined but, we'll assume) this baby will be here. In my ARMS, relying 100% on me to care for her. I will be responsible for someone else's entire life, and that quite frankly it both exciting and terrifying.

Let's think about this from my point of view, remembering of course that I may be certifiably insane. The only other "life" I've ever been solely responsible for maintaining thus far is my little monkey Tuker. Ok, he's a dog but I call him monkey. And I can't say I've always been great at that. Forget for a moment that I revel in the fact that I can feed him for 3 months on only $100, or that on particularly lazy days I forgo walking him in exchange for yelling "go poop" from the porch and hoping he chooses to do it outside and not in. Forget that I throw bacon flavoured treats down the hall so I can sneak out unnoticed every morning, or that I lie CONSTANTLY by telling him I'll be "back in 5 minutes". We can forget that sometimes, I bring him along for the day on errands, so he can sit in the car, in hopes he again, won't poop inside. Also, let's forget that he has no only been saved 1 time from certain drowning death, but 4 different times, for different reasons and NONE of which I've done on my own. Forget all that, and let's look at some of the serious issues my Boston faces.

For one, the dog lacks a certain survival instinct that I can't help but wonder if I should have taught him. Seriously, if left unattended for more than 30 seconds, this dog would be dead. He sees large shiny objects, moving towards him on wheels and thinks he should go play with them. Roller bladers, skateboarders, cars, trucks, bikers, this dog will throw himself in the path of any rolling object, tongue out butt wagging, in hopes of some love. Ai ya. I've seen him put his entire face underwater, trying to get a ball (stick, rock, barnacle) and breath in. Eyes wide open, he dives under, and breathes as usual. And if he's not almost drowning that way, it's because he's jumped into a raging river and it's sweeping him out to sea. And if a bear wandered into my yard with her cubs right now, he's be licking them in the face faster than you can say "THE DOG!". One time, the hubs threw a GIANT piece of driftwood, but it slipped from his hand and instead of the dog moving from it, he watched it as it came at his head and clocked him so hard, he dropped and was actually paralyzed for a moment. He trusts everything and everybody (EXCEPT the sound of fireworks, which makes him put his head under the bed because, you know, if he can't see you he must have gone invisible) with a completely open heart. He loves everything in life, and I've not taught him to fear anything, even the scary stuff.

And beyond all these things, let's think about the fact that just this past January, my dog had the ENTIRE FRONT SET of his teeth REMOVED. Not 1 or 2 teeth, but 6; and the only reason there weren't MORE, is because he'd already lost most of them. How you ask? Well let's see, there are the times at the cabin where he drags giant driftwood 3x his size up the beach, and then proceeds to eat it. And there is his OBSESSION with tug of war, and my husbands obsession with doing parlour tricks with a dog lock jawed on the end of a rope toy - passing him through his legs and over his shoulder. There is also the simple fact that 2 grown adults and a tube of chicken flavoured toothpaste (which is perfectly disgusting by the way) cannot brush the 11 teeth of a 10 pound dog.

Anyway, I realize I will have a baby and not a dog, and that hopefully my child will grow up with a slightly more enhanced sense of reason and comprehension than my fartastic Boston, but it's what I've got for now. And while my dog is fundamentally healthy, overly loved and completely and utterly snuggled beyond all reason and necessity, I still leave him at home alone all the time and only worry he's eating the molding (which he does ALWAYS). While I've managed to keep him alive the last 6 years, I think I could probably have done a better job at raising him to be a good dog. Sure I have regrets about that, but at the end of the day he's a dog and he's cute, and I can always claim he's insane and not take responsibility. With a BABY, I am much more responsible for ensuring she grows up to be a well adjusted, respectful AND respectable little girl, young lady and WOMAN.

I'm being silly, I realize but in all honestly, my dog has been my baby all these years, and soon I'll have a real flesh baby, and I cannot use the things I've learned on him to raise her. Unless of course I want her to hump the arm of unsuspecting strangers and find it acceptable to eat from the garbage if it contains meat remnants (the answer to this is obviously no). I want my dog and baby to be the best of friends, but I need to figure out how to curb his incessant desire to mouth kiss....especially since he's got death breath. And most of all, I need to figure out how to make the dog know he's still my #1 little man, even when the baby is taking up every moment of every day from here on out. Bottom line is, my dog has been my baby so long, I just hope I can quickly make the transition to managing a helpless human, while still caring for him.

Ok seriously, this post just went all sorts of sideways. But it's late, and I've eaten too many peanut butter eggs to know what to do about it. I could go down and hit 'save now' and fix this into some sort of coherent non-sense tomorrow but instead, as a special treat, I'll let you have a sneak preview into my tired and overworked mind.

Enjoy...I suspect there is more insanity of this nature coming post-baby!

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