Many of you have asked me, through comments or emails, how Molly has handled the transition from only child to OH MY GOD, DOG, IF YOU BARK ONE MORE TIME AND WAKE THE BABY, SO HELP ME, I WILL GIVE YOU AWAY ON THE CORNER. Truthfully, she's handled the transition well. She's handled it so well, in fact, it makes my guilt reach new levels. She has never once growled or shown any hostility toward Kyle. She creeps up to him, daily, so she can steal a quick lick on his hand or sniff his sweet head and then she trots off to remember the good ole days. She listened to him scream as Mike and I did, from day one, and it never made her anxious or crazy, and she has never -- not once! -- acted out through chewing or having accidents or doing anything but being the well-behaved, smart and sweet dog we've always known her to be.
In our old house -- as I shared with you here via poorly-shot video -- we taught Molly how to go in and out of the house by herself. As long as we were home and the back door was unlocked, she could come and go as she pleased, and during Kyle's first couple months, that came to be the one freedom we gave her that she'll always be eternally grateful for. When Kyle would scream (and scream AND SCREAM SOME MORE, OH MY LORD) she'd slowly walk, with her head down, outside and stayed there until everyone's skin stopped melting off.
I mention above that talking about how good Molly has been makes me feel guilty, and that doesn't even scratch the surface. When I was in the throes of what I can now identify as a very normal yet still very hard couple months of post-partum depression, I used to yell at Molly a lot. I didn't want to yell at Kyle, although sometimes I did. I didn't want to yell at Mike, although sometimes I did, so I tried to direct all my anger and frustration and raw emotions at Molly. For one, she listened so well. And when I would scream at her to JUST STOP BARKING, she would. Kyle didn't respond as well when I would beg him to sleep. Ungrateful child. Anyway, she would run off to her bed and wish for a new mom, but she'd do it in silence. I couldn't control very much back then, including my own emotions, so I controlled my poor dog.
I know that every mother has a very different post-birth experience, and when I talk (a bit too openly, perhaps?) about my own, my goal is not to make other moms feel guilty for having a better one. My goal is to tell my story, the way I remember it. Not the entire story, not even half the story, but an honest part. It's the only way I know how to tell it at all. So, when I look back on that time now, I'm finally able (thank god) to see the beautiful parts, the sweet parts, the parts I completely disregarded and ignored at the time, because I was too exhausted and immersed in a vat of STRESS to see clearly at all.
I still can't forgive myself for how I treated Molly those two months, though. All I wanted was for the baby to sleep, and even though my kid can sleep through fireworks and Mama dropping things and both his parents LOSING THEIR SHIT while watching Wipeout, he cannot sleep through Molly barking. He's been woken more times by her than by anything else, and I can only equate how I responded to him crying moments after she starts barking AT THE DAMN DOORBELL ON TV is the scene in "Marley and Me" when Jennifer Aniston finally collapses onto the bed after getting her kids to nap and right then is when the trash guy decides to drive up to the house. You can see her praying for the dog to just NOT BARK, JUST THIS ONCE, but the dog freaks right the hell out and Jennifer's character goes one step further and LOSES HER MIND COMPLETELY. For the most part, that's what I did with Molly every day for two straight months.
So, many of you have asked how Molly has handled the transition from family of three to family of four, and I've been hesitant to answer because answering that question includes also saying this: she's not only handled her new little brother's existence perfectly, she's handled her mom's meltdowns pretty perfectly, too.
When I was pregnant, I threw up a lot. If you're new here, let me say what I've said so many times before, I THREW UP ON MYSELF WHEN I WAS PREGNANT. That's honest-to-god, losing-your-dignity sick. Mike was as supportive as he could be, but when women talk about how often their husbands would hold their hair back as they lost their lunch EVERY DAMN DAY, I can't help but wonder ... why, exactly? I mean, I love my husband's support, don't get me wrong, but I wouldn't let him in that bathroom with me very often. Did our marriage really need to be put through the will-you-still-love-me-as-I-throw-up-my-pizza test? But Molly would sit in the bathroom with me every single time I'd get sick. She'd sit quietly and close and she'd only start wagging her tail as I'd splash water on my face.
Someone once said that Molly is not my baby, she's my dog. I'm not her mom, I'm her master. We talked it over, the commenter and I, and agreed to disagree. See, I pieced something together a couple months back, and it's one of the reasons my guilt wraps itself around me every now and then and squeezes. Molly doesn't bark when I come home from work or when I come home from dinner with a friend and Mike is home with Kyle. She only barks when I am home alone. She may love her father more -- um, who could blame her -- but she's protective of me. She knows I need more than he does. She knows I'm scared of more than he is. She gets me, completely, and she loves me all the same. She's not just my dog. No way, no how.
While we're gone this week, my girl will turn six. She'll be with her grandparents, and she'll be spoiled rotten, just as she'd prefer it. On her birthday, on every day, I hope she knows I love her, even though I don't always act like it, even though most days she deserves a mama who treats her like the perfect sidekick she is.