Thanks Is Not Enough, But It Will Have To Do For Now


I adopted my first child on January 22, 2016. He was 2 years old, 30 pounds and his name was (and still is) Louis.

In case you’re confused, my child is a dog. No human kiddos for me anytime soon. I’m not sure how I could afford a kid, considering that I am still struggling to pay my bills on time.

But even as a dog momma, I have learned A LOT. And my own mother has been a huge part in guiding me down the road to successful dog motherhood. I’m learning that being a mom is really hard, really complicated and a LOT of responsibility.

I’ve developed a newfound appreciation for mothers, especially my own. I don’t know how I should feel about that fact that my dog and I are very similar beings: needy, weird, and creatures of excess energy and completely questionable habits.

So Thank you, mom, for putting up with me. I’m starting to understand your overall confusion of my existence.



1.   My mom understands bodily fluids more than I do. She’s spent far too many years wiping my butt and cleaning up my vomit from when I was too young (and lazy) to understand the concept of running to the toilet when I felt sick. She’s held my hair and watched my cry in confusion when on a casual Tuesday during my sophomore year of high school, blood starting coming out of my vagina.

When Louis ate an entire cup of candy hearts and various appetizer-esque foods at this year’s Valentine’s Day party, and his poop came out shamrock- green, it was mom that I called.


Mom’s response: “First of all, Lauren, you need to calm down. It was probably just the food he ate. I can’t believe you let him eat that. But, if you look at his butthole and you see raised bumps, it probably means he has worms. If that’s the case, you should take him to the vet.”

So calm, so casual, so very, very mom-like.

2.  I can’t believe my mom had to wake up every morning and come home from work every night and think about feeding other human beings beside herself. EVERY SINGLE DAY. Well, for at least 13 years or so, until I was capable of putting Pop tarts in the toaster oven and making Ramen noodles. The concept is baffling to me. Creating a daily routine to feed my dog every day has been difficult enough.

“I’m out at happy hour with friends and I can’t get drunk because I have to drive home to feed my dog? Wow, I feel like such a mom.”

(The thought that runs through my head every Tuesday, Wednesday,Thursday night or so)

I used to get really upset with my mom when she didn’t make homemade meals, but now I understand how extensive of a responsibility it is to cook, especially for other people. All I have to do is pour pre-made food into a bowl. I really have nothing to complain about.

  1. Planning vacations is a b*tch. Mom, how did you deal with me at the beach when all you wanted to do was relax, get tan and drink margaritas? You spent all that time making sure I didn’t drown in the ocean when what you really wanted was for me to disappear for a little while so that you could read erotica novels and talk sh*t about people with the neighbors.

Whenever I want to go anywhere, I have to think about Louis. Is where I’m going dog friendly? Am I going to have to babysit him? Can I afford doggy-daycare? (Absolutely not.) Who do I know who could watch him?

I mean, at least dogs can go in crates. It’s not like you can stick human children in a crate and leave them in the living room.

I’m sorry, mom, for all of the hot lifeguards you missed staring at because you were too worried that I might try to eat a seashell.

  1. Mom, how did you keep me entertained for all of those years? 24 hours is a lot of hours in a day. No wonder I got into so much trouble. No wonder I had so many cuts and bruises from acting like a total idiot. I bet you wish you could have afforded a nanny to run my life, don’t you? It’s ok. Don’t feel bad. I’ve decided that I’m going to marry rich so that I can hire someone to make sure my kids don’t screw up as much as I did (Or at least so I don’t have to deal with it.)

Like I said earlier, Louis is a lot like me. He thinks it’s important to smell everything. He’s chews up his brand-new toys in a matter of minutes, leaving my house looking like a giant teddy bear threw up all of his stuffing. He steals all of my socks, so now my struggle to find matching socks has become significantly greater. He ate my roommate’s retainer and chewed the eye off her favorite stuffed penguin. And rudest of all, he thinks it’s ok to just leave his hair wherever he wants to.

  1. Most of all, mom, I wonder how you trained me. I know how to say please and thank you. I can do my own laundry. You taught me to talk like a lady (I’m sorry, I failed in that regard.) You taught me how to be on time and how to talk to adults. YOU POTTY TRAINED ME SO THAT I DIDN’T POOP MYSELF.

Whenever Louis gets nervous, he pees everywhere. This is basically every day. Did you get annoyed when I used to pee the bed all the time?

Mom, I struggle to get Louis to SIT DOWN. I can’t get him to stop stepping on my computer keys, hence causing consistent glitches in my MacBook. I’m out of WARRANTY. I can’t pay to fix this problem.

He’s constantly trying to hug me and rub up on me. This is really cute most of the time, but it can be SO annoying. Remember when I used to cling onto you like a monkey because I was afraid of the entire world? That is Louis all of the time. How did you deal with it when I pushed up on your boob too hard? That sh*t hurts so bad.

Being a mom to any sort of living creature that can fit into a crate is hard.

I respect all mothers more than I ever have before, especially mothers of humans.

I respect my own mother for being the BO$$ that she is. She worked all day and then came home to raise ME?

This woman deserves a free trip to Rome to spend the rest of her days drinking wine with hot Italian men that tell her she is “bella.”


Little Beth, aka Mom.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s