Woman's Best Friend

It is often said that dog is Man's Best Friend. Well, that may be the case but I can testify that dog can be Woman's Best Friend too. I have had a few of them, but none more so than a big, yellow dog named Max. Max was a lab-golden-husky mix like no other. I was first introduced to Max when he was about 6 weeks old after he was presented to me as an early Christmas gift from a so-called friend. Let me clarify, this so-called friend didn't earn "so-called" status because he gave me the dog (although my mother may disagree) but for many other reasons that came later and aren't worth my time, nor my energy, to write. In fact, the only good thing that loser ever did for me was give me Max.

Max was the cutest puppy EVER. I mean it. A soft yellow furball with melt your heart chocolate brown eyes. And he LOVED me. Seriously. I was living at home when I got him and my mother was less than thrilled, but she could tell from the look in my eyes that making me give Max away would have broken my heart and it would have. So Mom, again I thank you for letting me keep Max. As Max grew, he became not only bigger but also more destructive. Something about Labradors...they love to chew. He chewed the bed. He chewed shoes and socks. He chewed the window sill. He chewed my car stereo's face plate. He chewed the movie Bennie and Joon (try explaining that one to Blockbuster...not fun). And yes, he also chewed my homework. He chewed my sister's pot - for which she was irrate and narc'd on him to my mom. Not smart on either of their parts. Neither Max nor Rosie ever made that mistake again!

And, he would make more mistakes to come. Like the time he jumped out of my convertible to try to play with another dog only to have his leash get caught on the emergency break and his foot to get caught under the wheel! I panicked and was actually told by the vet that I was taking the whole incident much worse than the dog was. And then there was the time that Max swallowed one of those Godforsaken cow hooves that are sold at petstores for dog's to chew on...yeah thanks Petsmart clerk for suggesting that one. Max swallowed it whole (another thing Lab's are famous for) and needed to have it surgically removed. My instincts knew he was sick that day and I got some flack for being a worry wart when I took him to the vet. Well PHOOOEY to all of you doubters. I knew he was sick!

Countless times my Dad advised me to get rid of the dog. I am just not that way. Once I make a committment to another living thing, I mean it. Whether it be my husband, my child or my dog. I mean it. And, despite it all, Max loved me and I loved him. I often sang to him "You Are My Sunshine" because he was (stop gagging!). I loved that untamed heart of his. I loved the way he thought he was still a lap dog when he weighed 120 pounds. I loved that he hated getting his feet wet, but loved to run with his head pointed down into the snow. I loved that he always seemed to know exactly how I was feeling - knew when I was sick, knew when I was sad, knew when I was excited, knew when I was lonely, knew when I was about to do something stupid - and he always knew just to how to react each of those times. That dog saved me more than once, both from my own actions as well as those of others. He stopped a strange man from enterring my Mom's house through the side door - scared him quite well actually. He saved our airedale Watson when his chokechain became stuck on a nail on the back porch. For that one he barked at my brother's window relentlessly all the while returning to lick Watson profusely as they waited for the rescue that eventually did come thanks to Max's persistance. He, along with buddies Watson and Beau, saved my brother and the house when an unattended candle was left burning atop the television causing a small fire. Max was a hero and yes, I loved him and he loved me.

When I first met my husband, he hated dogs. In fact, Chuke would lock Max, Watson and Beau out of the room most of the time. Max made sure to change that. I cannot remember how many times I would return from work to find Max and Chuke cuddled in an embrace as they took their nap. In fact, Max eventually was even able to win over my Mom and Dad and he had Grandma Tina wrapped around his big paw so to speak. He had her trained to make to him a slice of toast - hold the butter - each time he visited. He also had her trained to chuckle fondly as he waltzed up and took a seat on her couch after eating that toast. When her toaster went out, we bought a new one for him to give her for Christmas! It was quite the sight - him sitting on her couch with the wrapped gift. She loved it!

As Max aged, he slowed a bit. But, he still loved our walks. We would walk up to the top of the Aves, past the cemetary partaking of the magnificent view of the city from the mountain, back down the hill and eventually home. And, he would patiently wait by the bathroom for some fresh water. See, Max prefered his water to come from the tub faucet. I guess it was just colder and at his height level. Yes, he loved our walks. He loved it up until I noticed he was having difficulty walking. Alarmed, I made an appointment. He had some lumps, but I thought nothing of it. He had had them before and they always ended up being fatty tissue. Only this time, it wasn't. This time it was cancer and Max needed major surgery (literally had to be cut from back to belly). Then, he needed surgery again a10 days later because they didnt' get it all. This time, a specialist was brought in. My poor dog had been cut in half and sewn back up. He hurt and so did I. All of this happened in June 2002.

Max slowly healed, but never did get back up to speed. Now, instead of meeting us at the door, we would often return home to find him resting on the bed. The long walks were just too much for him. We relished resting with him in our queen sized bed, snuggling close until he thought we were asleep and went out to his couch. A funny boy. He would always react as if he had been busted when one of us would get up to get a drink of water or go to the bathroom and see him there snoozing on the couch. I realized that my dog Max was getting older but I still allowed myself to hide behind a wall of denial to the fact that he would, as all of us eventually do, someday die. Sure, he was 9-10 years old, but I was positive that he still had a few more good years in him. I mean, the dog had undergone major surgery - TWICE - and just needed time and patience to get back to his old self.

Just after that Christmas, we went to Disneyland with my extended family in an effort to help my sweet cousins celebrate the anniversary of their dear Mother's passing from metastatic breast cancer the very year before. We didn't want them to be stuck in Denver mourning but rather celebrating the wonderful life of their Mother in Disneyland. It was a special trip for all of us filled with many heartfelt memories that I shall treasure all of my life.

When we returned home, we immediatly went to pick up Max from my uncle. He was so happy to see us, and so happy to go home. We had bought him a Pluto Christmas stocking to hang up the next year because Pluto reminded us of him. And, as always, we tried to erase our guilt from leaving him with countless treats, crumbles of toast and warm corn tortillas (another favorite).

On January 6, 2003, I left work with an extra spring in my step. Somebody had forgotten to tell Mother Nature that it was January in Utah. The sun was out, the air was crisp but not too cold, no snow on the ground, even the grass was green! As I signed out at work, I told my boss that I was going to go home and walk Max because it was so nice out. When I got there and asked Max if he wanted to go for a walk, he immediatly began jumping up and down excitedly. I grabbed the leash and off we went. We didn't get far. Only 1 house away in fact.

Max was sniffing the ground when he suddenly stopped and looked at me. I tried to urge him on but instead he wavered for a brief moment and seemed to sit down, but not in his usual way. Instead, his back legs seemed to slowly collapse beneath him. I realized something was dreadfully wrong and deep down, I think I knew that he was in the process of dying on me. I helped him lay down, took his head in my hands and whispered for him to get up and that everything was going to be ok. I gave him a kiss and then got up and ran to the house and frantically screamed for my husband to come outside. When I came back to Max, his eyes were closed. He opened them to our voices, but couldn't seem to move.

We tried to carry him, but he was so heavy. Chuke ran in to get a blanket to carry him on as I moved the car closer. Then Chuke told me that Max seemed to be looking for me. I took his head onto my lap and softly caressed his soft fur. I told him I love him and he relaxed. I think that he died at that moment. The next few moments are a blur - except for the moment that I let go of Max's head to try to pet his back. That is a moment I can't seem to forget. Sweet Max's head just fell to the ground. A man had stopped to help us, as did a woman who kindly called ahead to our vet. Our sweet neighbor and his son ran out to help too, his son trying unsuccessfully to perform mouth-to-snout on our dog. We loaded Max into the car and sped away, me in the backseat with the dog. I tried to resucitate him again, but it was no use. I ended up just holding him and crying as I tried to memorize his features, his beautiful eyes and the touch of his soft fur. He was gone. My life had forever changed. My best friend had died in my arms and left me alone.

In my life, I have lost a very anticipated child whom I loved beyond words far before a devastating miscarriage took it away from me. I have lost Grandparents who taught me much and whom I adored. I have lost my aunt Mary who I was especially close too and still miss a great deal. I have also lost other pets, the first named Tipee who was stolen from me as a child; Daisy who was given away when I was teenager by the Devil (a.k.a. my wicked stepfather); Beau who loved to snuggle and was put to sleep when his legs went out and the mischievious Watson who was a much loved-character by all but was also put to sleep when his legs went out too. Each loss was devastating. Each loss was painful beyond belief. Each death was different.

It is hard for me to believe now, but within 2 years, I had a miscarriage, watched my aunt lose her battle to breastcancer and sat with my beloved pup as he died in my arms. A very dark cloud was following me and it all seemed to come crashing down on me at once after Max died. Max had been there by my side after those other losses, but now he was gone. I had often dreaded the moment he would die. Morbid I know, but I wasn't sure what I would do without him. The realization that he was gone was too much. We all cried like babies, none more so than me all because Maxi Moomers was gone. My house was eerily quiet and empty. My heart was breaking yet again.

Just over a week later, we adopted Bella. The house was just too quiet and I know that my husband was worried about me. And, he fell in love with Bella who was a pup at the time and cute as could be. She looked NOTHING like Max, which actually helped. Then, months later, we opened our home to Allie who also needed a family. She is A LOT like Max, but still her own unique self too. No, Bella and Allie were not adopted to replace Max. No dog could replace Max as far as I am concerned. Just as no dog will ever be able to replace Bella and Allie either. They were sent to us for a reason too, just as Max was. I don't question timing or fate, I just somehow know that events and things have some sort of purpose and I am so glad that Gabby has the opportunity to grow up with two of Girls Best Friends too. Someday, I shall write about how special Allie and Bella are to me too. But today is dedicated to Max.

I do believe that there are animals in Heaven, and if there are not I am not so sure that I want to go there. I personally think Heaven is made up of all of those we love and since I will always love Max, it only makes sense that he be there too. A Heaven without those we love just doesn't sound like Heaven to me.

To this day, I still cry over losing Max. Those of you out there who think people should quickly get over the loss of a pet just don't get it. Such people have obviously missed out on the love and joy having a wonderful pet can bring. For that alone, I pity them.

Max is still alive in my heart. There is a reason he was such a big part of my life and I honestly believe - no I KNOW - that he saved me. And, just has he was here for a purpose there is also a reason he is now gone. My life is so different now. Many of my dreams have been answered in Gabby. I am a mother to a child and that has put my life into a new perspective. Max helped to prepare me for the life that laid ahead of me, and I protected and loved him in return.

Somehow I know that I will always think of Max often and love him forever. He comforted me when I cried, celebrated with me when I laughed, rested with me when I slept, thought I was the GREATEST cook in the world and loved me just as I was. Yes, dog is also woman's best friend and I will always be thankful for my dear canine friend Max. So, on this day, I honor my good buddy who was really my furbaby.

Cheers Max and thank you for everything. I hope you and Tipee and Daisy and Watson and Beau are having a wonderful time over the Rainbow Bridge. I will miss you always until we meet again - which I know we will.

What the ????

So, dropped Gabs off to "school" today and was rather lackadaisically told that she is also now signing "eat." WHAT???? And I am just being told this NOW? I cannot believe that I wasn't notified immediatly of such an accomplishment....Don't they realize I need to chronicle each and every milestone in a timely manner???? Apparently not.

So here it is - Gabby signed "eat." Don't know when, never saw it, but they said she does it so I guess I just have to take their word for it.

My Friend the Pump

Let me just start by stating that I truly do love breastfeeding Gabs for many reasons:

1. Breast is best - yes, it is true. I am by no means a nipple nazi (no offense to those who are - aside from the really AWFUL one at the hospital where I delivered!), but I love being able to say that I am giving my baby the best start in life by breastfeeding.

2. It is free. Have you seen how expensive formula is? Holy Cow. Let's just say that those formula company executives must live in pretty fine gated communities with marbled walls and golden toilets a la Saddam.

3. I can do it anywhere. At first, I was quite intimidated to breastfeed in public. Then I got over it. I can now proudly claim to have breastfed everywhere from the aisles of Home Depot to countless restaurants to the Utah Arts Festival.

4. No messy bottles to make or clean. Aside from the ones that get filled with the milk I pump devotedly Monday through Thursday at work.

Which brings me to this post. Pumping is pretty much the only thing I truly resent about breastfeeding. Well, that and the occassional bite from a babe startled as her father bursts into the room to announce that the stupid Jazz are losing YET AGAIN, thus awaking said baby from the lull of a near-sleep-boob-in-mouth-state.

Where was I? Ahh yes...pumping. Mom, I cannot thank you enough for buying my pump because God knows I needed it once my milk came in and many times since. But, truth be told I truly dislike pumping. Not the machine so much, because you picked a top-of-the-line model that is cleverly disguised as a backpack and can pump both breasts at once. No, my beef here is with pumping in general.

As a working mother, I knew that I would have to pump if I chose the breastfeeding route for Gabs. But it is an awkward, sometimes messy experience, not to mention inconvenient. I just love how my clever co-workers (i.e. the network guys) so enjoy knocking on my locked door or even worse - jiggling their master keys in the lock - when they know damn well what I am doing in here. And I can't tell you how many times I have anxiously spirited myself away from work only to realize blocks later that I have left the precious breastmilk in the fridge and must begrudgingly return. Or the times that somebody makes a snide remark like "You are still doing THAT????" horrifically as if I am pumping milk for a 16 year old rather than a 10 month old.

I know that I shouldn't be complaining here. I mean I do this for my daughter whom I love with all of my heart, therefore it is by choice that I pump. And in all fairness, it isn't all that bad compared to other duties us mothers face. I would much rather face the pump then a Code Brown blow-out anyday (and I am sure Gabs would agree!). Sure, the time spent pumping can be boring, but maybe I am looking at this process in the wrong light. Lugging my breastpump with me to and from work surely helps burn calories. And, pumping does give me a great excuse to close my office door and hide away from the world a few times a day...maybe it isn't that bad afterall? Nah. It is.

The Bruise Stage

Poor Gabs. She fell at school the other day, resulting in a lovely red, swollen mark under her right eye - the color of which actually complements the purplish-blue bruise on her forhead from too many faceplants. Learning to stand and walk is a tough business, as my little one is learning all too well. Thank heavens they document such mishaps at school, at least I can have that when and if somebody turns me into the bruise police!

An Amazing Day

Gabby reached two big milestones yesterday, one that thrilled me and the other that scares the living-you-know-what out of me!

1. Gabby signed "milk" at school when she wanted a bottle!!!! We have been working on this one, as have her teachers. She has signed milk to me three times total, all in December and all while we were nursing and I was signing to her. So, I wasn't really sure if she understood what I was doing or whether she was just copying me. Turns out, she is getting it. We are also working on "eat" and "more" right now. I will probably introduce the sign for diaper change next, although she hates these and I doubt she will go into any change willingly!

2. Gabby used a push-type walker for the first time yesterday and it turns out she LOVES it! She was so proud of herself pushing that thing around school and again at home. I wish I could have taken a picture of the look on her face - utter pride and a HUGE grin. I was actually pretty suprised. I had showed her teacher Mary that she could take a few random steps unassisted here and there, but didn't expect much else so soon. Of course, Mary had her working on walking (GRRRRRRRR!) all afternoon with that damn walker thing. Now Gabby is literally on her way to becoming hell on wheels and eventually (gasp) hell on ground! I AM NOT READY!

In all fairness, Gabby has proven time and again that she does not adhear to anybody's schedule other than her own so this should come as no suprise. But sheesh...she isn't even 10 months old yet! This is too early to walk. I AM NOT READY! did I say that already???

Dropping off the babe to school...

I am not trying to be rude with this entry and certainly mean no offense to the mother referenced here. It is just that this is an emotional day for me. You see, 3 of the "big babies" are moving out of the Bumblebee room and into the next classroom at school. The transition process for this has been going on for months, and I knew it was coming. Lola, Conrad and Molly are moving on up. Good for them. The only problem is this means 3 new babies will be joining Gabby's class and Gabs will now be considered to be a "big baby." Which can only mean that she is months away from the same type of transition and I AM NOT READY! Not at all really. I miss how little she used to be. I am still adjusting to the fact that she has her funky little crawl and has begun walking anywhere she feels safe enough to grab onto something stable to help her along. And let's face it, those other kids are bigger, tougher and much more mobile. How will she defend herself against them at the snack table or with the blocks? Actually, I have already seen that she can and will defend herself thanks to lessons learned from her bigger and tougher cousins Carter and Evan. But still, I AM NOT READY!!!

So there was already a gray cloud over my head this morning. It was a strange morning. Woke up late, which isn't all that strange lately actually. Frantically pumped, fed the dogs, got baby food ready to go, got dressed, woke up baby, got her dressed, gathered extra outfits and blanket for her cubby at "school," loaded her and all of her stuff in the car even later. Buckled her in, turned on the car, applied mascara, put car into reverse, drove 3 1/2 blocks to 'school' where I then unloaded baby, grabbed all of her stuff, frantically looked for key card to enter school, signed her in, walked into Bumblebee room, put milk in the fridge, food in the cupboard, clothes in the cubby, blankie in the crib, filled out daily instruction sheet and then noticed something very strange. One of the other mothers had actually TYPED out a full-page sheet of instructions for their child. This was their baby's first day at "school" and there were detailed instructions for feeding, sleeping, playing, fussiness, clothes, diapers, etc. I looked at my quick instructions for the day which constituted of "Will bring more milk, fruit am, veggies pm" and felt a combination of being both extremely insufficient and extremely relieved to not be that anal.

Then I realized that since Gabby hadn't been to "school" for 13 days, this was kind of like dropping her off again for the first time. I bit my lip, took a deep breath as I kissed her good-bye and managed to not cry until I got out to the car - which was lucky because Isabel & Molly's mom said she was feeling the same way as we walked out. We both paused in our cars before heading off to work. Will it ever get easier?

Want to annoy me today?

Come into my office with a long-winded explaination of something that requires no more than 5 words to explain....then sit down and keep talking.

And the bad mommy of the year award goes too....

First, a brief introduction. I am Stephanie, married to Jesus (no, not JESUS but Hey-Seuss). His nickname in Mexico where he was born is Chuey (Chewy). Somehow, that translated to Chuky (CHOOO-Key) north of the border. Not sure why or how, but his family in Mexico calls him Chuey and his family here calls him Chuky and it somehow works. We have a cherished baby girl named Gabriella-Jo Carmen, but almost always referred to as Gabby or Gabs. We also have two loving mutts, Bella and Allie. As for me, I don't know of any nicknames other than Steph because people are kind enough to not share those with me to my face!

Our little family lives in Salt Lake City, Utah - although Chuke would love to change that location! SLC is an interesting place. I don't really feel like I have anything in common with it besides my family, but it works. We tend to stick out like sore thumbs here, but we hang out with other sore thumbs so at least we are in good company. So, you may be asking yourself, why bother with a blog? Simply answered, because.

When I was pregnant, I had so many plans. I mean BIG PLANS. I would take pictures of Gabby regularly and capture every change of her features. I would make imprints of her tiny hands and feet at birth, at 6 months and at one year to show how they grew. I would chronicle every milestone, create the greatest baby book ever, record each and every precious moment in print and film.....blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Then came baby.

It started with the lack of sleep. I have NEVER been so tired before as I was those first few weeks. Now at nearly 10 months (Oh-My-God) either that has gotten better or my body has adjusted to exhaustion. Then came the reality of NEVER having longer than 3 minutes (and that is on a good day) to myself. Between wanting to be held and her constant breastfeeding, I am lucky if I get a shower everyday, let alone have time to write a paragraph of her amazing milestones uninterrupted! Add tendonitis from constantly carrying baby and her things, spit-up and snot stained clothes, adjusting to Gabby time which always runs at least 30 minutes behind real time, piles and piles of laundry and countless chewed up baby toys thanks to Bella and you can get a better picture of our life now.

Before I even knew it, my tiny little munchkin had learned to sit and crawl, cut 6 teeth, pulled herself up to a stand and begun singing "AI-OH" whenever Old MacDonald played. And, me being the bad mommy that I am had failed to record such miracles in a proper fashion. BAD BAD MOMMY!

In all fairness, it is not as if I haven't been busy this year! My life forever changed last year. I mean, 2004 started out with me being pregnant, having a baby, finding a daycare (which will forever more be referred to as "Gabby's School" in this blog because they charge tuition and that term invokes less maternal guilt then the alternative!), becoming a WOHM (Working Outside of the Home Mother for those of you unfamiliar with messageboard speak), etc. etc. etc. And, no, I never did get around to making Gabby her first Christmas stocking or religiously chronicling her every milestone. But, I refuse to give in to that guilty conscience inside of me that is screaming that I deserve the Bad Mommy of 2004 Award. I had too many expectations without enough hand's on experience. And, to my credit, I did give up a most desired possession (CHOCOLATE) for nearly 5 months because Breast is Best and my dear little Gabs gastrointestinal upsets meant that mommy could no longer eat diary, soy, eggs or nuts.

So, my New Year's Resolution this year is to write. Not everyday, maybe not even every week, but as often as I can. Even if it is just to say that Gabs sang "AI-OH" or cut another tooth. And, somebody reads my ramblings, great. And if nobody reads it, so be it. But, at least this blog can help me chronicle something of my daughter's early life and if nothing else, writing it can give me the outlet I need and aggrivate my tendonitis even more! So, Happy New Year from me.