Trial by Vomit

I believe it was my grandmother who said that if you want a baby, you should get a dog. Conversely, she said, if you want a dog, consider what it takes to care for an infant. When my husband and I meet a new person, after the usual introductions, we arrange our faces into polite smiles for the expected questions that follow.

"How long have you been married?" (Three years.)

"Do you have children?" (No.)

Typically, the interviewer then responds with a disappointed "oh," and makes some comment about how there will be plenty of time for children later and that we should just enjoy our time together. (Uh, thanks. That's our philosophy. Eye rolling inserted here.)

In the last year or two, several of my friends and acquaintances have entered the wild world of parenthood. I have learned quite a few things, particularly facts I wish I didn't know as a childless woman. However, I do have a dog. Now please don't think that I believe that a dog is just like a baby. Please, dogs poop in the yard, babies poop...well, you know--it's a big difference! And no, I don't think my dog is my child, and no, we don't dress him up. (Okay, once we tried to paint stripes on his back for a Halloween costume as a football. Let me just say that dogs don't like their humans to put face paint on their backs.)

But I agree with my grandmother's sage advice. Let me explain why doggie parenthood can be a small dress rehearsal for baby parenthood. I'll just focus on one topic: vomit. We have woken up on several occasions, usually around 4 AM, to the sound of our miniature dachshund's heaving. (Yes, he sleeps in our bed.) We've become experts at scooping him up at just the last moment before the eruption and depositing him on the hardwood floor outside our bedroom door so the carpet in our bedroom is saved from the canine upchuck. Then there's the subsequent stroking of the pup, telling him he's okay, the offer of a Milkbone so his breath doesn't reek, the swabbing of the puke puddle. Recently, I held the weiner in my arms as we stood in the garage as my husband climbed into the car to go to work. Without warning, the dog threw up. Part of it landed on my flip-flop clad foot. Ick. However, I shrugged with a sigh, knowing that this incident was just a reminder that, in some small ways, I too am a mom. And if and/or when I'm a mother of a sick infant, I'll tackle that situation with the confidence that I've already completed vomit training.