Sleep-Deprivation and the Snooze Button

So, I've had a bad case of baby fever lately.

And I mean... BAD.

In addition to turning 35 this year and having both of my children officially in High School, I've been around scores of pregnant ladies in the past year (with the increase in belly-casting and maternity photos) which has NOT helped.

I loved being pregnant. It was a double-edged sword in that my first pregnancy was unexpected and out-of-wedlock, so I felt more shame than joy through that process... except for the private moments in which I felt free to marvel in the miracle of life. Being married by my second pregnancy, I could then unabashedly enjoy being fat and uncomfortable in all of its rotund glory. And I did! Though my second pregnancy was physically more difficult than my first (borderline diabetes and toxemia through the second half) I still loved every moment of it. My first experience with suppositories was a result of being pregnant. Ah.... the good ol' days.

And so it is that my biological clock has been ticking. Loudly.

Now my lifestyle is NOT one that is conducive to having a newborn. I don't make enough money nor have good enough health insurance. My house hasn't been baby-proofed in over 8 years. I'd definitely have to take a break from theatre. (Save for the 4 months that I could capitalize on being a pregnant mom for commercials or print jobs.) But you get my drift...

With every milestone my children have reached, I've gained a new aspect of freedom and independence. I selfishly hoard that freedom and independence to binge on my passions and throw myself wholly into the play or the project that I'm working on. Not because my children have become lesser in priority, but because they are more independent and self-sufficient themselves. I can't imagine a job and a full-time theatre schedule with a newborn. Or even a part-time theatre schedule with a newborn. I did one show when my son was an infant. I remember wearing him in a papoose during rehearsals and either breastfeeding or pumping during breaks. It wasn't a 'bad' experience, but it was one that left me so tired and harried that I ended up taking about five years off from theatre after that.

In all of my wisdom and psychological analysis, I had decided about a year or so ago that I would effectively hit the 'snooze' button on my biological clock.

By getting a dog.

We attempted to adopt my brother's dog at one point, but the poor pooch hadn't really been exposed to living with cats and was far too aggressive towards our spoiled felines. And so we put it off until we could find the right dog at the right time.
Both Jay and I are advocates for rescue animals and we knew that it would probably take some time before we found the right rescue for our family. One that would be good with the kids and the cats... not too horribly traumatized or abused, young enough to have a decent number of years with us... I was starting to think that we weren't likely to find anything that suited our collective requirements. Until friends of ours ended up with a stray that they couldn't keep.

Our 'infant' is a mix of Sharpei and something else (we suspect Pointer or Doberman) and is assimilating nicely. The cats are slowly and gradually getting used to the excited energy of a year old pup in the house.

I, on the other hand, forgot how much I loathe being up at 6am on my weekend off.

The day after picking her up, we were at the vet with her for a full check-up... and aside from a dry coat and pads (from exposure), she's perfectly healthy. And the more comfortable and spirited she gets, the more sleep-deprived I am.

I wake up randomly when I hear the flap of the dog door or feel her stir in my bed. Rather than feeling the sticky fingers of a toddler, I wake up to a wet tongue on my face and dog breath.
Gross.

Instead of stocking the cupboards with Enfamil, rice cereal and Nilla Wafers, I have an entire cabinet full of pig ears, rawhide bones, and Pupperoni. For the record, those pig ears... both sticky and slick from the thin layer of grease/animal fat with the little hairs still stickin' out of 'em... *almost* as gross as nasty baby diapers. Seriously... the pooch loves them, but they are FOUL!

She is a snuggler. I can't keep her off the couch or the bed. She has to be where the people are (I'm sure part of this is just the adjustment) and she's housetrained, *almost* leash trained, and knows 'no' and 'sit'. (By default, if you tell her 'no', she'll sit automatically.) She's curious, but not aggressive towards the cats. Last week, she was introduced to a squealing baby and couldn't have been more gentle or precious to her. Anyhow, she's smart. And with some basic obedience training, she's gonna be super awesome.

We just have to work on this early-in-the-morning thing.
And keeping her out of the cat food.
And the cat poop.
And my shoes.


Well, at least I don't have to breastfeed or hire a sitter when we go out to dinner tonight!
It's the little victories. ;)