So, it is (hopefully) coming closer to the time when our beloved pets will no longer be our babies, usurped by the baby himself. I feel guilty already.
Elvis (lovingly nicknamed LB, or "Little Bastard") has been part of my life for almost 13 years. My Polish landlady brought him to me one day when I was living in New York, an attempt to cheer me up after my much-loved Miscia cat had died. LB was fresh from the streets of Brooklyn - a tough little homeless kitty with a HUGE chip on his shoulder and a bad-boy swagger. He made the move north (not uncomplainingly) when John and I got married in 1998 and over the years has adapted well to life in the "country". I just don't know how to break it to him that the carry-cot is not his new kitty-bed and am wondering if baby q. will be allergic to the cat hair that is already collecting in it....
And then there is Woody, our one-of-a-kind chocolate lab, who sleeps on our pillows, eats our people-food, kisses us on the lips and accompanies us everywhere. He is the pet whose someday death I already mourn; he is near-perfect. Will there be time for a game of fetch in the yard once baby comes? Will we still go on winter beach walks? Will Woody be able to tell the difference between his stuffed toys and the baby's? Will we freak out when Woody (inevitably) destroys baby's toys, or slimes him with his slobbery tongue, or when he steals the Cheerios right out of his tiny toddler hand?
I know it will be a no-brainer when the time comes, but right now it all makes me feel sad.
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