NOBODY knows that song. If you do, you are the most winningest winner ever.
The other night Ryan and I were discussing Rosie being pregnant with puppies. She’s like the dog equivalent of me. If I were a 5 pound Yorkie, I’d be the same way she is, vain, pampered, and always looking for something to eat. Ok, so I don’t have to be a 5 pound Yorkie to be that way. That’s just how I am. My parents spoil her like they spoiled me when I was little, and they’ve been trying to breed her for a few years (just like they’ve been pushing me for a grandchild) so we were all a little surprised that this time Rosie met Mr. Right.
I kept thinking, no, I’m going to wait until she has her x-ray on August 9th to feel secure that she’s having puppies, but it’s undeniable. She was bred about a month ago, and the gestation time for Yorkies is something like 60 days. When I saw her last week after 3 weeks of no Rosie time, I was amazed at the size of her belly. She came over with my mom on Saturday and hung out while we painted, and I swear she grew more by Monday. She’s lazy, she’s miserable, she waddles when she walks, and she barks at you when you DARE to eat in front of her without offering to share. I thought I was bad.
My mom’s best friend is a breeder, so we’ve had Rosie around many Yorkie pups, and she’s never showed any interest in them whatsoever. So I posed that question to Ryan the other night, “do you think she’ll have any maternal instinct whatsoever?” He just looked at me and said, “somehow YOU came around.” That made me laugh, because much like Rosie, I’ve never had any interest in babies, even when they were dangled right in front of my face. Now I can’t leave them alone. If you have a baby with you, watch out, cause here I come, ready to pounce on that kid and chew its little toes off. I fall in love with babies in an instant. So if I can make that change, I guess Rosie can.
Ryan also pointed out another change in me that he really likes, “you’re not as vain.” I was perplexed by that because I spend just as much time getting ready in the mornings and quite possibly more time straining my neck at the mirror to see the progression of stretch marks dancing across my ass. His point was, “you don’t ‘get ready’ just to go to the grocery store anymore. That’s nice. You don’t have to be on top of your game all the time.” He always hated how high maintenance I was, so I bragged to him about how I rolled out of bed on Saturday, put my contacts in, pulled my hair up, and went to the store to buy paintbrushes. He was so proud. I’m on the verge of letting myself go completely and my husband loves it.
Back to Rosie. Counting down to her due date gives me something else to focus my attention on for a while. I’ve never seen a live animal give birth, so I’m planning on being there for it. I’ve read up on all that I need to know about Yorkie birthing, and watched every episode of “That’s My Baby” that I can stomach on Animal Planet. I can’t wait to see those little black fuzzy pups… they’ll be roughly the size of mice when they’re born. Unfortunately, Rosie might be a little pissed that I can’t afford her the same luxury of witnessing the birth of my fuzzball… I don’t think the hospital would understand our sisterly dog-human connection, do you?
New belly photo is up at Baby Squirrels.