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Fact: I did not grow up with pets.  Another fact: I never wanted them.  But this isn’t about me, not all of it anyway.  This is about my baby and about his baby.  Have you ever seen an 8-year-old boy in love?  I have.  Lexi is the family cat (see all the sacrifices I’ve made in my life?).   Every morning, after he reluctantly gets out of bed and dressed for school – my baby goes to the cat and snuggles.  For like 10 minutes.  He cuddles with her – cooing sweet nothings to her in a soft, singsong voice.  He strokes her head and chin while telling me how pretty she is and I get lost in the whole thing….and then he asks me the same question every day, “ don’t you just LOVE her Mom?”  And I do what every good mother does, I lie.

Don’t hate me.  I’m the gal that doesn’t want to pet your dog when we’re walking by each other on the street.  The one that understands and appreciates your deep connection to your cat/hamster/tortoise  – but just doesn’t want any part of it.  I know, I have problems.

It’s just that I can’t bring myself to explain that to my little man, who thinks Lexi is the sun and the moon.  The same boy who can make fart sounds with 5 or 6 body parts, the same boy that screams every night because “he has to take too many showers”.  But when it comes to his cat, he is a lovey dovey softie, just like his father…and his sister.

Signed,  weirdo-mom-with-no-pet-lovin’-abilities

p.s. – ignore the untamed, uncombed, wilding hair on my boy