I recently received big news. Life changing news. I’m going to be a grandmother. When my son called me to tell me, I was silent for about 30 seconds. But my head was spinning, so it could have been more like 30 minutes because I came to with him saying in a concerned voice, "Mom? MOM? MOOOOM?!? Are you okay?" I regained my composure, responded in soothing tones and told him that babies are never bad news. Of course they’re not. Unless his/her grandmother lives in a house with almost 250 pounds worth of dogs and two very spoiled cats. Then each visit is a veritable obstacle course of peril and imminent illness. How could a tiny human visit my home amongst all the dander, dirt, and OMG, the LITTER BOX? All these thoughts passed through my convulsing brain in a matter of seconds. I hung up the phone and put my head between my knees to gather my wits and keep from passing out. As I studied the tuft of dog hair stuck to my boot heel, the significance of the information hit me – I’m going to have to baby-proof my home.
I actually like kids a lot; my own son was a never-ending mixture of delight and angst, which constitutes joy in parenthood. And kids seem to be drawn to me like moths to flame. But flames kill moths. To gauge the pitfalls in my house, I got down on my belly to view the world from the perspective of a 6-month old. Immediately, I had three wet noses in my face and ears (being "snorfed" as we call it) and a cat sitting on my back. Piper, a border collie mix and a "gift" from my son, actually weaseled her way underneath my chin trying to hoist me back on my feet. Note to self: I will be carrying the child around the house on my hip until he/she is 10. Plus, I was covered in hair – refer to my last blog regarding that.
I rolled over on my back and tried to erase the notion that I live in a zoo. Hard to do with three worried dogs hovering over you – my lab mix with anxiety issues was literally foaming at the mouth in distress. Sully, an Akita, loomed over me and dripped slobber on me from his great height. Piper tucked her body next to mine, laid her head on my shoulder and looked at me sideways as is her habit. I was oddly comforted by them, these hairy children that, like my son, provide me with equal measures of delight and angst. That’s when I decided there’s room for everyone in my small house. My child survived my mothering and my grandchild will survive my grandmothering. I’m a total justifier. I could have a PhD in justification, so here’s the rationalization: my pets don’t have opposable thumbs and therefore can’t grip a bludgeoning weapon like a big brother or sister could. Satisfied, I got up, wiped off the dog drool and opened the door to the extra bedroom that, with a little ingenuity, might have just enough room for a tiny nursery!
Pam Hayes
Trend Communications Specialist
LowesCreativeIdeas.com