Before you were born, I wrote an entry about our dogs Maynerd and Roxy, joking that they'd be all but forgotten when we welcomed baby Vogt into our lives.
I swear, I really was joking. Those dogs were the light of our lives--seriously, EVERY picture we took was of our dogs. We dressed them up for Halloween, got them individually embroidered stockings, made white chocolate dipped dog bones for them as a special treat...and countless other things that now I'm just too danged embarrassed to admit.
People told me that my relationship with the dogs would change once we got a child. I scoffed at the notion, thinking for sure that it would never happen to me--I love my little furbabies and nothing would ever change that.
Pshaw. Yeah, right.
Case in point: two weeks into parenthood, we asked the photographer if we could bring our pooches along for your newborn photo session. The dogs, we reasoned, were a part of our family, and how could we take pictures of our newly expanded family without dear ol' Maynerd and Roxy? The photographer was somewhat hesitant--apparently the idea of bringing pampered canines to a photoshoot meant for a baby isn't a common thing--but she eventually agreed. Needless to say, we needn't have bothered to ask about the dogs: we were halfway to the photography studio before we realized that Maynerd and Roxy had been left behind without a thought.
That was just the beginning, dear Sammie. As you took up more and more of our hearts and love and attention, the dogs, well, they kind of got squeezed out. Gone were the matching pumpkin costumes and sugary dog treats. Gone were your dad's late morning snuggling sessions with Maynerd. And gone was their once-every-other-month grooming session (with home baths in between). In came the "eh, dogs don't need clothes" attitude and "did you feed the dogs today?" Regular grooming is now more like "Oh-CRAP-that-dog-smells-and-I-guess-it's-been-five-months-might-as-well-make-the-grooming-appointment-sometime-this-century."
This past week, however, was a good week for the dogs.
They got groomed. And they look good. And smell good.
So I took pictures:
But something was missing. Hmmm...
Then you turned up the cuteness a notch by "cuddling" with each of the dogs (apologies for the blurriness--danged camera took to long to focus; hopefully the cuteness overrides the blurriness):
**Let's just talk about the elephant in the room: that danged outlet. By the time I strategically placed you next to both dogs and got all three of you to STAY while I got my camera out, it was too late to move you away from the ugly outlet. So I took the pictures and mentally slapped my forehead for not scouting out a better location as I snapped away.
I was on a roll, so I figured I'd try my luck at getting a picture of you with Maynerd. We've spoken of him, but we've yet to get a decent picture of the two of you together. Bummer that he's as black as all get out and still doesn't show up in pictures well.
That changed today:
If you're wondering where Roxy is, here you are with her tail (have I mentioned that taking pictures of dogs and babies is incredibly difficult?):
And here's both of your butts (don't ask me how this happened):
While I was snapping away, I somehow got the money shot:
...but this blog isn't about the dogs. Apparently, I don't care enough about them to create their own niche in cyber space. This blog, dear Sammie, is about you. And your future unnamed sibling (whenever we decide to get on the ball and submit our application for a homestudy--we're just not ready for #2 yet).
Back to you. Whew, that was an awkward transition there, wasn't it?
You really are a fashionista. I joked about it when you were weeks old, but now, I mean it. First of all, at any given minute of the day, you are dressed better than I am. Presumably, this is because what's cute on a 15 month old (lime green tank top with matching brown zebra pants?) is not necessarily cute on me, a, um, not 15 month old.
You proved my point the other night when I was cleaning out your closet and making the switch to your next size up in clothes. As I was busily putting clothes away for baby #2, you were busy grabbing whatever you could to "wear" them. At one point, you had on a jean skirt and chartreuse shirt (which I put on you) along with your own fashion choices: a bright yellow ladybug hat, pink shearling vest and a tourquoise swimsuit bottom.
I took a picture, of course. For fashion purposes.
Heaven forbid you should wear the same getup twice.
Then there's the matter of your bows. You've become somewhat of a spokesgirl for my friend's bow business so it's rare that you're seen without your trademark bows. If I was too embarrassed to admit that at one point dogs were dressed in pink fur lined boots (Roxy) and a jean jacket (Maynerd), then I'm really too embarrassed to admit that, at last count your bow collection is well over 150. And I just got more in. And I just placed another order because I fear I'll lose mommy points for putting you in an outfit for which you don't have a coordinating bow.
Frankly, I have a problem. An addiction, if you will. If they had a 12 step program to wean proud mothers off of insanely adorable bows then I really probably should sign myself up.
In case you missed it, here's your bow collection again:
Right. You've got a lot. You seem to realize, though, that bows are important and must be worn when you go out, because whenever your pigtails are naked, you self-consciously reach for your hair and give me a look of desperation.
Ok, so I totally lied in that last sentence. Honestly, you couldn't care less about the bows in your hair.
Have I mentioned that I have a bow addiction problem?
At any rate, when we got your latest additions to your bow collection, I took the time out of sorting through your closet to share them with you.
Apparently, you took that simple gesture to mean that you should wear all of your bows at once.
Perhaps I'd better look into mother/daughter bow addiction groups.
Loving you more than I love your bows (really, honestly and truly),
your mama
PS I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that most of these bows have either been purchased by family members or obtained through trading arrangements with my friend--and my bank account is grateful for that!
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