I have a newfound appreciation for those burp-cloth-packing,
diaper-bag-slinging, infant-seat-toting, stroller-pushing people we
call Mommies.
I have a newfound appreciation for those burp-cloth-packing, diaper-bag-slinging, infant-seat-toting, stroller-pushing people we call Mommies.
Before the birth of our daughter a month ago, I never quite understood what a feat it was to leave the house before noon with your little one fed, dressed and diapered and yourself relatively alert and clothed as well. Not to mention with all of the necessary items, i.e. diapers, extra clothes, blankets, etc., in tow.
I thought I was prepared for the 38 pounds of baby gear that would soon be tethered to me. But what I wasn’t ready for was dealing with Lucy’s extra baggage.
You all remember, Lucy, don’t you, dear readers? Our angelic, selfless (ha, ha) miniature dachshund that we thought – up until last week – was quietly adjusting to sharing her home with a baby.
We were wrong.
For a while, Lucy and Emma appeared to co-exist harmoniously. When we first brought Emma home, Lucy sniffed her and tried to get as close to her face as possible. But soon any interest Lucy had developed for Emma waned. When Emma cried, Lucy burrowed deeper under the covers to drown out the noise.
But little did I know Lucy was biding her time, waiting for the precise moment to let me know exactly what she thought about being second fiddle.
Our daughter, Emma, and I had just settled down on the couch for her morning feeding last week when Lucy decided to plant herself on my lap as well. Normally, I wouldn’t mind. Numerous times Lucy has fallen asleep across my legs while Emma eats.
But this time was different. This time sleep was the farthest thing from Lucy’s mind. This time, Lucy was bent on sending a message to yours truly.
She jumped up on my lap, choosing that exact moment to relieve herself. I sat there, too stunned to speak, watching the yellow stream soak my pajama-clad leg and the couch. Fortunately, Emma lay on my lap untouched, peacefully eating, completely oblivious to what had happened.
Seething, I covered our daughter’s ears and screamed at Lucy, who slinked off the couch and attempted to crawl under our loveseat. She was only successful in squeezing her head under it, leaving her shaking hind legs and tail exposed.
I didn’t want to interrupt Emma’s breakfast. So I sat there, holding my breath until she was done. Then I cleaned up the couch, yelling words unfit to print at Lucy, who crawled under the bed and stayed there for the next hour, occasionally poking her head out to see if I was still mad.
I was.
Hours later, after having removed the offensive odor from everything Lucy came in contact with, I called my husband, Chris, on the phone and told him my tale.
Of course, he burst out laughing.
“What did we do wrong?” I asked him.
I started to think about how we had failed Lucy, how we could’ve made the transition easier for her.
We did what all the books recommended. We tried to expose her to babies before Emma’s birth. And before we brought Emma home from the hospital, Chris held Emma’s blanket in front of Lucy so she would become familiar with Emma’s scent.
We should’ve learned our lesson then. Lucy took one look at the blanket then peed all over the floor.
Since Lucy’s “accident,” she hasn’t had any more. It might have something to do with the fact that Lucy’s indifference for Emma now borders on outright disregard.
Or it could be attributed to the temporary lap ban I implemented. But I’ve had to take extreme measures.
It’s my only hope on getting Emma and I out of the house before noon.
Kelly Barbazette lives in Gilroy with her husband and miniature dachshund. She is the owner of Write Now, a copywriting and public relations company in Gilroy. She can be reached at kb*********@ya***.com.
