Once upon a time, this was my only baby. Isn't she cute? We adopted her from a no-kill shelter. She was all tiny and scared and needed some TLC (and some medicine), but we loved her. And she loved us back.
She taught me some of my first lessons about parenthood. Like the bad times (chewing a Kate Spade shoe and a lap top cord that were both worth more than her life, er, her adoption fee), they never last. And lots of love and forgivness are the most important things.
But now, holy cow, she is just like in and out of the bedspread while I'm trying to sleep. Or shaking her ears all loud and OCD-like when Maggie is trying to sleep. And I start fantasizing about locking her in a crate all night and maybe taping her ears (in some super-humane kind of way) to try and stop that ridiculously loud shaking business.
I totally forget about the cute, little puppy I used to nap with. Or even the sweet, grown-up puppy (I still call her a puppy, for the same reason I will always call my girls, my babies) who eats the girls' fallen scraps of food so I don't have to pick them up, or wags her tail when she sees me, or is patient when the girls give her giant hugs. (Heck, one of Maggie's first words was "dog dog" -- she loves that silly, loud dog big time.)
She is a good dog. Who moves excessively at night. But I love her. And need to try harder and remember that.