During the basketball banquet for the Teenager last night (where she was recognized as Most Improved Player for the second year in a row, yay!), we received recent puppy photos from Fabrizius Farm. As the the little fur balls approach 7 weeks in age, they’ve grown significantly HUGE since the last time we saw them.
Tomorrow we plan to purchase gates in order to establish some “puppy free” zones, amid much protest from the kids, especially the Youngest who is on an unsuccessful campaign to reserve the extra twin bed in her room for the dog. However, since they have no idea what it’s like to have a little human or animal in the house, both of which would try to ingest every little thing left on the floor, be it a Lego piece, ear buds, or bobby pins, we decided it’s best to be safe than sorry while simultaneously preserving our sanity.
I’ve successfully blocked out the challenging and not-so-fun parts of the Toddler Years with each child, but if I think hard enough I seem to remember the ongoing diligence when the Teenager was 3 and the Boy was brand new, and then when the Boy was 22 months old and the Youngest was brand new. I was elated when I bought the last box of Pampers at Costco. And Preschool was met with a celebratory Pumpkin Spiced latté from Starbucks, which I sipped for a total of 30 minutes on a park bench before my quiet time was up.
But admittedly, the sweet squishiness is what I miss the most. Seemingly overnight the Youngest cringes when I try to give her a hug. Hence, the need for a puppy. Or at least that’s my overarching reason for what will likely be some trying months ahead of us. I know my husband is much more realistic about this new endeavor since he grew up with dogs. But I will continue to live in this puppy fantasy land full of slobbery kisses and unconditional love until the first chewed up shoe or first pee accident on the living room rug that will require Herculean strength to remove.
(Note to self: Consider removing that rug this weekend.)
Sixteen more days!