Animal House

Like most queer couples, we had a barrage of animals before baby came. And like any good family, as crazy as they make us, we committed to them, so we kept them, even though they don't really fit into our schedule of this new "baby infused life".

Any pregnant woman will tell you that she starts to get a little squirrely about having animals in her house, especially the closer she gets to the end of her pregnancy. Nothing will ever be clean enough, or safe enough. But hopefully most women realize it's the hormones talking and wont post their animals on craigslist or facebook through gritted teeth and sweaty anger.

I personally became pretty resentful of our five dogs, as I tied my apron around my big belly and swept a tornado of hair from corners and out from behind doors. It always seemed worse when I got to the kitchen, which also happened to be a perfect vantage point for me to give Amanda the stink eye, as she seemed to sink into the couch, looking like a deer in headlights or a nervous child. Luckily she always held her tongue as I toiled, and I am grateful today she never intervened, just letting me be pregnant and crazy.

It wasn't just the hair. It was the incessant barking. I wondered to myself as I cleaned, or fed (what felt like a whole fucking kennel of dogs) or bathed them, how often they would get under foot when the baby came, which of his toys they would chew up, how many times they would wake him (undisciplined bastards) as soon as I got him to sleep.

I felt horrible in spite of my anger, that my love for them seemed to have diminished, or taken a backseat. I knew that when the baby came, the amount of time we used to spend walking them and playing with them would be gone.

And It is. And all of these things Im saying are true. The hair still floats around the house. I still have to sweep every day. And some days I still curse Amanda (though it's not her fault), and the dogs as I pick hair off of the baby's onesie, or out of my eyeball. The dogs DO bark every time the mailbox hinges squeak shut, or every time they hear the neighbors talking, every time the freaking wind blows. They do get under my feet. And because the safety of the baby comes first, sometimes I do step on them. They have gotten to the baby's toys, they have had accidents in the house, they have made me feel like I'm going out of my fucking mind. I have even fantasized about their old age, and eventually their demise.

                                                                     Ciaya




But I know I could never live without them. Not even one of them. As much as sometimes I feel like I do.

I'm not saying these things are fixable, or they aren't. Im saying give it some time. Eventually you and baby and your better half will get into a routine, and the dogs will follow suit. Some days you will feel bad because you forgot to feed the little guys until 1pm. Some days you will pat yourself on the back because you spared some time to take one for a walk, or get on the floor and play tug with them all.

And as any good dog does, they will forgive you, for yelling, for being cold or distant, for forgetting they exist sometimes.

And hopefully because it's in your nature, you will remember why you loved them once, and carried them around like they were your children. You will find a greater way of doing things with your new plus one. Think of all of the fun the baby will have when he can chase the dogs around, throw balls with them, use their furry sides as leverage to pull himself up and learn to walk.

The dogs I think are really a vast blanket of symbolism for what is really happening in your life now. A whole lotta change. And I for one, have never been so good with that...