I don’t know how anyone survives parenthood intact. I don’t have human children though I love my dogs with a passion and ferocity that startles me sometimes. Living with these furbabies has changed me dramatically. That’s where the staying intact versus coming unglued question comes in. In what ways do we deconstruct ourselves and reassemble when we allow these beloved creatures (human or otherwise) into our lives?
I have two dogs and this morning I planned to walk just one of my dogs on his own. It was sunny for the first time in a few days and I wanted to be outdoors for a while in the brisk daylight. Linus loves taking a nice long walk on his leash and will go anywhere with me at any time. His sister, Seven, is less amenable. She prefers off-leash romps at the beach, often takes offense at being leashed, and only likes to go a certain distance before she digs her heels into the sidewalk and refuses to budge. Still, she expects to come along every time. This morning was no different. She waited expectantly while I put Linus into his harness with her head bowed slightly in order for me to slip her harness on as well. She eyed me suspiciously when I didn’t reach for her harness, and then she rounded her eyes in disbelief as I headed for the door without her. Her tail beat out an enthusiastic stanza or two. I picked her up and gently placed her in her favorite blanket on her favorite couch and explained, “Linus and Mommy are going for a nice long walk. Now, I know you don’t enjoy leashed walks. When we get back we’ll throw the ball in the yard.” She looked at me in a way I was sure meant, “Cool. Have a great walk. I’ll be here napping.” That’s not what it meant. As soon as I headed toward the door, she was out of her blanket and off of her couch and wagging her tail excitedly at the door. I tried again. I placed her in her spot, kissed her on the head and explained the situation. Again, she seemed to nod in agreement but then bounded toward the door with Linus and me.
Now here’s where the coming unglued part lies for me. I could have ignored her big round pleading eyes, full of betrayal and disbelief. I could have stayed focused on the memory that leashed walks don’t go well with Seven and that the likelihood of a long or even pleasant leashed walk with her was pretty slim. In short, I could have been strong and held my ground. I didn’t. I came unglued. Even though I hold a memory of our past experiences, I let her look of betrayal sway me. I harnessed her and leashed her and the three of us set out for a walk around the neighborhood.
As we started walking, my spirits were as buoyed as Seven’s curly tail. I had made a very good decision! Of course this will go well! Seven will find a way to love this leashed walk! I was right, she did love the walk. But after about five minutes, Seven’s tail started to sag and with it my spirits. She slowed down, as did my buoyant thoughts. By the time she had dug her heels into the sidewalk, I was shaking my head ruefully and turning toward home.
I missed taking a long walk on this sunny day, yet I kind of love that Seven found a way to get her needs met: a nice short walk ‘n sniff in the neighborhood. And though there may be a lot to be said about setting limits and sticking to goals, I kind of love the way I let a softened heart dismantle my goals and reassemble them into something that worked for the three of us. My furbaby reminded me of the art of compromise inherent to parenting of any kind. She reminded me of the value of leaning into something other than my own goals. Staying intact, through parenting or any other challenge or gift we have, can’t be our goal, can it? Coming unglued and reassembling differently is where the potential for our personal evolution lies.