|The Apple gods have quite the sense of humor...|
Anyways, I was sitting in the Doctor's office this morning listening to a five-year-old repeatedly tell his mother, "Nuh-uh," in response to everything she said. There was also a tenacious tyke around the corner screaming bloody murder over God knows what. I'm assuming a shot, but the kid was acting like they were cutting his fingers off one at a time. It was too much. Which led me to thinking about my own future offspring; thus leading to the obvious realization that before I get too crazy I may wanna start with just securing a boyfriend first; which then ultimately led to what we would say in improv, "my C thought," Phoebe. She's my Jack Russell Terrier that turned a year old this past fourth of July. She's also the precious angel baby that accidentally nudged my MacBook off the patio chair. But, she does no wrong in my eyes (God, I'm going to make for an obnoxious soccer mom one day) and is essentially my better half so I'm not holding it against her. And no, I'm not some sicko that's actually in love with my dog, but she has basically been preparing me for marriage in many ways for the past year; this is how/why:
1. Sleep. Phoebe likes to snuggle up right smack dab on my back when we sleep at night. It's obnoxious. She'll lock her little Phoebe paws in my side 'til I eventually scoot over to let her in the middle of the bed. And for the twenty-three years prior to having Phoebe I never shared a bed with anybody. I'm a queen bed hog. Pun intended. But I've gradually adjusted my sleeping habits for my little fifteen-pound love bug; now my fear of how I would manage to share a bed one day with my future husband is gone. So no worries, future soul mate, thanks to Phoebe and Ambien I'm great at sharing a sleeping place.
2. Mornings. Also for the twenty-three years prior to having Phoebe I wouldn't wake up earlier than my normal rise-and-shine time to let even Jesus in the front door. But when the birds start chirping, she's ready to go outside for her morning run around the yard that lasts all but thirty seconds. (She gets her dramatic tendencies from yours truly.) And she'll nuzzle my neck (usually when I'm finally entering REM cycle due to the previous four hours of paws in my back) when it's that time to let me know she's ready. Every. Single. Morning. So P's taught me how to be selfless, and no longer cuss out the person who may wake me up from my coveted ZZZs and/or has a sleep schedule different than my own.
3. Plans. When I schedule anything nowadays my first thought is Phoebe. Especially when it comes to trips or events requiring me to be away for a long period of time. Because she needs me as much as I need her. I've been told that when I'm gone she whines at my door, and all of you dog moms out there will understand when I say that knowing this just kills me. Vacations are great, keeping busy with extracurriculars/work is healthy, but spending just a week away from her is more heartbreaking than the store being out of Nutella. And maintaining her/our daily routine is my top priority; if I'm unable to meet her needs (i.e. Phoebe's 8PM nightly walk or our 11PM Friends marathon to wind down) I make sure as hell that someone else can take my place.
4. Exercise. I hate it. But if I want to reach sixty-four in human years and not dog years, I gotta do it. And Phoebe is my powerwalking buddy that keeps me accountable. She motivates me to turn off the Netflix and do the cardio because as a fitness fanatic with extremely high energy, Phoebe must get her daily runs in. And she will actually run away and/or try to pick a fight with my grandparents' dog (triple her size) down the road if I'm not there to supervise. And if I'm tired or sluggish and not keeping up with her she'll take off like a Greyhound and "ignore" my yells to slow down, making me feel like a Lazy McLazerson. So Phoebe's personal trainer-esque tendencies motivate me to be healthy, and I've learned how to compromise/love new things when it comes to any significant other's needs/hobbies. (Because let's be honest, if I didn't have Phoebe's physical requirements to tend to I'd be parked on the couch watching The Good Wife re-runs.)
5. Food. Despite Phoebe being human through my eyes, I do feed her dog food. Most of the time. And Purina's 'Beyond,' in Adventure flavor, her favorite. (Fun fact for the day.) But when I'm cooking chicken/veggies I always prepare a little extra to feed her throughout the week. And whenever I'm snacking she's all up in my face wanting a piece. So I give in. Because if she's happy then I'm happy. Unless it's my chocolate ice cream or chicken wings, obviously. But she's taught me how to share my food, cook/plan for others, and grocery shop with her in mind. (i.e. peanut butter Cheerios, Phoebe loves 'em, me not so much.) I also monitor her diet and will sometimes deny that sweet little face a late-night snack, because she would eat as much as an actual grown man if I let her. But this is just me practicing being a good partner that cares about the well-being of my best friend, duh. So again, no worries, suitable lad out there somewhere, I'll make sure you don't get diabetes or have high cholesterol once you hit your fifties!
And in conclusion, I probably sound like a crazy person but really I'm just an enthusiastic dog mom that just so happens to be a single 20-something with typical-but-dramatic female thoughts. And I could most definitely go on and on about how Phoebe is like a live-in boyfriend preparing me for future married life, but I must get back to work. And get ready for my first level four improv class at the DCH later tonight. I'm pretty pumped for it because I'm back with my original Wednesday night crew that I started this crazy adventure with, AND we have two kick-ass instructors that I've been dying to have as teaches, so I'm beyond excited and need to be productive before I go play later.