My substitute for a baby hates being held
We’re both playing roles we didn’t plan on
The other night, while going through a routine of pets and scratches, I looked Pepper, my 13 year old toy poodle, in the eye and said “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” Jeff replied.
It says something about the level of honesty in my marriage that even though I could have just stayed quiet and let my husband think I meant him (and I do love him so much), I opted to correct the record and make sure he knew I was talking to Pepper.
Pepper represents a lot to me: one of the few times I’ve rebelled against my parents’ advice, the primary consolation prize for moving to Michigan, a devoted companion, and someone who could not give less of a shit what I ask her to do. Even when Pepper does listen to commands, she makes it so clear that whether she follows or not is based entirely on her whims and that we should never, for a single moment, question who the alpha is in the house. I have looked right at this little 10 pound monster, repeatedly told her “I am the alpha,” and can see her laughing at me in her eyes.
Even Pepper, without the background of two college Psych classes, knows that she’s the emotional support animal I forced into that role because I didn’t have my own kids. She probably cracked that code during one of the many times I physically cradled her while she growled and indicated she was very much not into the role. Sam, our other dog, doesn’t know his own name so it’s unlikely he’s grasped much else.
We’ve all worked with that person who wildly overstepped boundaries in terms of probing on personal lives but got away with it because everyone would say “oh that’s just Linda.” When the Linda of one of my past lives found out I was marrying someone older with three kids, she called me into her office and said “are you going to have your own kids?” “Maybe but probably not” was my honest reply. “Oh you have to, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t” she helpfully responded.
At the time, I was fuming. I resented her assumptions about the kind of fulfillment I’d have as a stepmom. She didn’t know all of the drama we were dealing with between the kids and their mom. She had no idea how much pressure I felt to just get the three kids I was inheriting through college and out into the world as healthy adults. She didn’t know the toxic dynamics with Jeff’s ex and just how much having a baby of our own would throw her into an even more insane spiral. Neither she nor I had any idea how much more challenging things would get at the time when I personally thought things might start to calm down.
And without knowing any of those things, she was right.
I mean, not to say it at work to someone who has not requested to have that conversation, but she was right about regret.
The regret isn’t abstract or constant — it shows up in specific moments. When Middle missed his flight to meet the family for Christmas, even though I booked all the travel, he called his Dad. Youngest once told me that she used to get away with whatever she wanted but she could tell when her Dad consulted me because he’d start saying no or pushing her out of her comfort zone. That wasn’t shared with gratitude. It was shared as an example of how much change I had forced upon her and the family.
To be fair, I did change things. I just thought I’d get more credit for it.
Most of the time, Jeff and I operate as a team making decisions together, determining how we’re going to approach, what we’re going to say and who’s going to say it. Regardless of who says it though, if what’s said or done is different than what might have happened in their old family unit, I’m held responsible.
That’s a big piece of it: I stepped into a culture that was already set, and there’s no retrofitting yourself into the foundation. And honestly, some of that is on me. I stepped in wanting to matter, which meant I was always going to be visible in a way that made me an easy target. You can’t insert yourself into a foundation and then be surprised when the cracks show up around you (or so has been explained to me by people who understand construction).
I have stepmom friends who did have their own kids and the dynamic is very different. Every single one has, at some point, made a comment to me when discussing their stepkids along the lines of “and I told [husband] we are absolutely not making this mistake with our kid.” They’re verbalizing something I’ve thought about often: just how differently I would raise my child than how my kids have been raised. It’s not just about having a family with far greater knowledge of Broadway soundtracks, although that’s crossed my mind, but also being able to establish norms around behavior and conversation and family dynamics at a higher level.
No, one path isn’t better than the other, but the difference is that on the “have your kids” path, you, at least, have the chance to follow through on those changes instead of just thinking about it.
From this vantage point, and seeing both paths, I don’t know that I would make different choices, but I absolutely miss what I don’t have.
All the self help books and general common sense would say: then focus on what you do have. I have a wonderful husband and three kids who are each taking steps forward in their lives even if some of those steps aren’t quite what I would have done. And I have two aging toy poodles — Pepper, who doesn’t respect me at all, and Sam, who has severe and debilitating anxiety.
The end result is a lot of weight on the shoulders of two ten pound dogs.
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