The article stuck with me a little bit, though, because the topic of parental juggling acts has been on my mind a lot lately. If you didn't take the time to read through the mess that is that Slate piece, I'll give you the gist of it: busy mom wishes her 13-year-old dog, Velvel, would just die already. Oh, and she included this little nugget:
"A friend of mine once told me that before he had a kid, he would have run into a burning building to save his cats. Now that he has a kid, he would happily drown the cats in the bathtub if it would help his son take a longer nap. Here is how I feel about that statement: Velvel, avoid the bathroom."
Pause for deep breaths. I try really hard in my day-to-day not to judge other moms because you just don't know what goes on behind closed doors. Maybe dad is so hands-off that mom has to fend for herself and she truly is overwhelmed. She has three kids, and I know that's gotta be tough. In fact, a close friend with three small children told me the other night that when her dog passes away, they wouldn't get another. She said everything that the Slate writer said: they didn't have as much time for the dog, he shed too much, etc. She just asserted it was a lot of work. End of story. What she didn't do was actively wish for her dog to die.
I actually do think it's OK to admit you are in over your head with an animal. Sometimes there's a training issue or your circumstances shift dramatically or you just can't make things work with a pet (it does happen, trust me), and there is nothing wrong with making a change that will make you AND your animal happier. That, however, does not mean blaming your animal for your choices and making him or her pay the price.
There's no disputing that kids suck all the time and energy out of you. But you fight through your day and you give whatever is left over to those who deserve it. Your spouse. Your parents. Your loyal pet. The goldfish who has defied the odds and stuck around long after the others floated to the top of the tank. The PTA. Your friends. The succulents that were heralded as low maintenance but now have a yellow pallor reminiscent of Keith Richards. You make it work. We make it work. Somewhere, between ballet lessons and Spanish lessons and zoo camps plus a full-time job and freelance gigs and a husband whose job keeps him away for 24 hours at a stretch, we make time for this:
This is Ainsley. She's almost 12 years old. I've had her since she was a puppy, back when the only things on my plate included perusing Anthropologie catalogs and scouring Friendster for long-lost high school boyfriends. She was there for broken hearts and bad decisions. She once bit a dude who came up behind me in a parking lot at night and, I'm fairly certain, prevented something bad from happening. She weathered the birth of our first child with grace and so far, has made it through the trials and tribulations of toddler cohabitation with only the occasional defeated look on her face. OK, and she growled once.
That's not to say that life hasn't changed for Ainsley. Last time I took her to the vet, her toenail length was the subject of a passive-aggressive chirp from the vet tech. And the $70 groomer visits have been largely replaced by bathtub wrestling matches. But she still gets walks when it's cool enough. Our three-year-old daughter feeds and gives her medicine daily. She gets heartworm pills and vet check ups and $1500 surgery for torn ligaments. We are not perfect, but we have time for this. We make time for this.
There are things I really don't have time for now that I am a parent. I never saw the series finale of "Gossip Girl", and I guess I'll never know if Chuck and Blair ended up together. I still haven't listened to the new Nick Cave album all the way through. The last time I walked into my favorite haunt, I didn't even know the bartender. I looked down at my feet during my daughter's birthday party last weekend and realized that the outer hull of the Titanic probably looks better than my toenail polish. I refuse to waste time anymore on personal dramatics, and have quit trying to salvage relationships that are clearly not worth salvaging. The time that I have is precious. Limited. I divide it up, I savor it, and then I give it to those who need it: my child, my husband, and my family....which includes my dog.
Ainsley is old. She won't be with me for much longer, I know this. So every time she eats a box of raisins that The Little leaves on the floor and has to be force-fed activated charcoal , I tell myself that this is not a pain in the ass. I tell myself that whatever time--no matter how inconvenient--I have to devote to this dog is but a small price to pay for the warm fur, the soft eyes, the deflated squeaky toys and the unending love she has given to us over the past 12 years.
I say do get a dog if you've been thinking about it. Get a dog when you are young and single and let them grow with you and see your life change. Take them with you when you move. Let your future spouse learn to love them, too. Introduce them to swaddled babies and, as swaddling becomes a sweet memory, teach your kids to feed them and bathe them and pet them GENTLY, I SAID GENTLY. Comb mushed up Kibble out of Barbie's hair and untangle leashes from your kiddo's legs. Let them teach your children about pure love AND hard work AND commitment. Let them be there for you when tantrums make you weary and teachers send you notes that make you worry.
It'll be so worth it.
No comments:
Post a Comment