Amberly McAteer's newborn, Lucy Wankowski, with dogs Prudence and Douglas.Amberly McAteer/The Globe and Mail
“Oh.”
That was my reaction as my dogs ran toward me, folding in half with excitement at my feet, after our time apart. The wiggles, the kisses all would have made me swoon just days earlier, and I likely would have recorded their reactions. But this time, this reunion, I felt nothing.
When we had parted, I had been on my way to the hospital to have my first baby and had squeezed them both so tightly, promised it would only be a few days, and gave the dogsitter pages and pages of instructions on how to take care of my beloved fur babies: two middle-aged French bulldogs, Doug and Prudence.
They were the joy of my life; they slept in our bed (despite the protests of my husband), sat on dining room chairs while we ate, cuddled with us on the couch every night. They were dressed in full costume every Halloween, and the stars of our Christmas cards.
The dogs in costume.Amberly McAteer/The Globe and Mail
And then, four days later, they were doing their welcome dance at my feet, sheer glee from head to toe, gentle as could be and curious about the new bundle in my arms. “Oh,” I said, and mustered a few scratches. But inside I was screaming: Stay away from my baby, don’t touch me and get off the damn couch.
This was four years ago, but I still remember the shift I felt. The love was there, sure, but it was as if my heart had been stretched and expanded overnight, and now Doug and Prudence were just measly specks on my radar in a whole new universe of emotion.
As the weeks progressed, so did my resentment. Things I hadn’t ever noticed started to make me rage: They jumped on the couch just as I got the perfect latch. They playfully barked at their normal walk time, just as my newborn was falling asleep. They rolled a ball under my feet to play fetch as I was trying to wash my breastfeeding pumps at the sink. I daydreamed about getting rid of my dogs; my parents loved them and had a giant backyard. I could still see them every month or so. Was this such a crazy idea?
How could I, a self-proclaimed crazy dog lady – and former dog columnist in this newspaper – suddenly be half-considering saying goodbye to my once-beloved babies?
When I recently confessed these feelings to Aileen Stevenson, Glasgow-based author of Dogs, Bumps and Babies: Preparing Your Dog For Life With Your Baby, she told me, to my surprise, it’s exceedingly normal.
“You were learning how to be a parent to a real baby – not a fur one,” she says. “And everyone has to get used to this bundle that suddenly absorbs all the attention in the room. It’s an upheaval to the family routine, so it’s no wonder you felt like this.”
Stevenson says she sees many families who are in the same boat, and the key to surviving the transition is twofold: preparation and grace.
Expecting families should start thinking about the dog’s experience early: Invest in training to curb bad behaviours and hire a dog walker or lean on family to meet the dog’s needs.
“Most importantly, cut yourself some slack,” she says. “A lot of stress comes from placing unrealistic expectations. It’s okay to play with the dog in the backyard instead of a walk every day. You’re not going to do everything perfectly. And they will still love you, so relax.”
At my peak of dog-resentment, I was the opposite of relaxed. Doug, a rescue dog with previous abusive owners, had just woken my sleep-resistant baby up from her nap because a squirrel was climbing in the backyard tree. He couldn’t resist losing his mind – and I did too, when I heard my daughter crying.
I shouted and chased him around the dining room – and then caught a glimpse of saddest, most mournful eyes from under the table. My guilt was palpable.
Lucy at six months with Prudence.Amberly McAteer/The Globe and Mail
I knew this needed changing and the first step, for me, was talking about it. When I told my mom group how I felt about my dogs – more mouths to feed, more things to keep quiet – they confessed feeling exactly the same way.
And, turns out, the feelings can be mutual. Jenna Kramer, a corporate lawyer and mom of a toddler in Toronto, remembered her intense guilt was already in high gear, even before giving birth.
“The day before my scheduled C-section, I couldn’t make eye contact with Patrick,” she says of her French bulldog – Patrice, on occasion, because he’s French. “I just knew this big change was coming and it was going to change us forever.”
Patrick was similarly the prekid centre of her world. “For Halloween, he was Ruth Bader Ginsburg and I was his law clerk, naturally,” she recalls. And after she gave birth, she felt a similar dynamic shift. “We really struggled with the family integration,” she says, but it was Patrick who resented the changes.
“He was livid,” she says with a laugh now. “He wouldn’t even be on the same floor as my daughter, he would just leave.” But with time and patience and relying on family, Kramer and Patrick found the right balance. “I had to realize that it’s all part of enlisting the village, and something you need help with.”
Lucy, now four years old, is the crazy dog lady of the house.Amberly McAteer/The Globe and Mail
Finally, now that my oldest daughter Lucy is 4, our family’s equilibrium has been restored.
After the kids go to bed, I’m back to cuddles on the couch and long chats with my first loves. I can feel how special and beautiful these dogs are – in their own right, as dogs. It was all a temporary shift as our family evolved, something I wish I would have known in those early, ugly days.
And now there’s a new crazy dog lady in our family.
“Mom, does Dougie know he can always count on me?” Lucy asks one morning, rubbing her eyes as she emerges with him from her bedroom.
“Yes, absolutely, he knows,” I reply.
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