Thoughts on Babies and Dogs

Yesterday, with Annika in the Baby Bjorn, I was walking the dogs--two full-size collies--when a couple of women stopped me at the corner. They were speaking to each other in another language, German, I think, and didn't speak much English. After a few confusing minutes, during which it became clear their intentions were friendly, I finally realized they wanted to photograph the dogs.

This had actually happened once before, and although I find it odd--sort of like the way I find tourists photographing stationary objects such as the tree at Rockefeller Center odd--I see no reason to say no, so I stopped and let them take their pictures. When they were finished they thanked me, and one of them, struggling over the words and speaking loudly, the way I do when I attempt to use my French, said something along the lines of: We don't usually see anything like this in our country.

A neighbor, a guy I know who lives on my street, happened to be walking by as she said it, and he laughed. "We don't either," he said to the women. "That's just Amy."

I relay this anecdote as a conduit. I cannot count the number of times people, many of whom are related to me by blood or marriage and some of whom are strangers with opinions they feel the need to share, have made comments about the insanity of my choice to have those dogs. And it is my choice, in that I knew all along that I would be the one to feed and walk them, to nurture them on a daily basis, as--quite simply--I am the one who is always home.

The funny thing is that not for an instant have I ever minded the daily care of the dogs. They get fed twice a day, walked three times a day during the week, and every once in a while require a trip to a groomer or vet. Although there are times, such as when it is raining or cold, that I would prefer not to walk them, the work itself is simple, entirely physical in nature. And in return for their food and walks, as well as the easy physical affection I bestow upon them, these dogs give me the unconditional love pets are famous for, their own brand of uncomplicated affection, and loyal companionship around the clock. Whenever I get one of these "What were you thinking?" comments, I always smile to myself, knowing that I have the better end of the deal.

By now you may be wondering what, if anything, this has to do with parenting. If not for this past week, I would have a hard time knowing myself. But I never realized before how much the daily care of a baby has in common with the daily care of a dog. This was thrown into relief for me by virtue of the fact that Lily spent this past week with my parents in Massachusetts, leaving me--for the first time in years--alone with a baby for more than a couple of hours. Spending a full day with Annika requires feeding, airing, the facilitating of sleep, along with somewhat mindless narration and play. But the lack of emotional entanglement, of arguing, negotiating, manipulating and being manipulated, explaining, elaborating, enhancing, and calibrating in this week without a four-year-old around has made me realize that it is the mental work required of raising an older child that leaves me spent, not the excruciatingly dull, robotic work of unfolding diapers and filling bottles, over and over again.

I miss Lily. In fact, I feel bereft, a word I've never before used to describe my emotional state. But today, when I entered the living room and found three pairs of eyes, three nonverbal beings awaiting their lunches, I must confess my mind felt clean and clear.

Tomorrow, Lily returns. I think I'd better go rest up.