photo credit: Hank’s dad, AKA Bedtime MVP

“They said you couldn’t have babies, but then buh-badah! Out came me!”

…said my little dog after he crawled into my lap. He’s six now already, somehow, and he loves to hear and repeat the family stories we make after all the questions get asked. Some days this past summer, while walking the dog, the questions are “do you remember what you told me about the killer bees when you were a kid? Can you tell that to me again?” The little dog loves the really wild stories.

I was either eight or twenty months pregnant and guzzling milk from the jug in the light of the fridge. My guy graciously ignored what I was doing and said, “I had a dream you gave birth to a dog! Wouldn’t that be…just…AWESOME?!” I went to bed annoyed. Am I the only one in this house that has to grow up in time for this surprise baby?

Neither of us grew up, despite being old, in time for the human-looking being that finally emerged from my body. We were going to name her Phoebe Jr., but he didn’t look like a Phoebe Jr. He remained nameless, known as “little man,” for the next four days, sleeping under a whiteboard covered in potential names. He was round and pink, and less larval in nature than I expected. He was healthy and statistically in the 50th percentile across all areas measured. He was definitely a human. Sure. Definitely. An adorable human that hated naps and started smiling and laughing very early…