Puppy Love = Baby Love?

Unless you've been living in a cave for six months, you probably know I'm going to be a mommy for the first time in May. If you work with me, you probably know all the gory details, and the drama, and the craziness -- but most of all, how excited I am despite all these things. If you read this blog, you know the looming questions I've been asking myself about my how my life will be affected by my little girl. Yes, impending mommy-hood has me a bit on edge one minute, and bursting with joy in the next. Damn (oops, mommy means "darn") hormones...
But just in the past week, I've realized something that has comforted me. I've kind of already been a mom for almost two years. No diaper changes, or breastfeeding, or tiny pairs of shoes -- but a mom just the same. My child? A 60-pound, 8-year-old Golden Retriever mix named Goldie.
Since the night I pulled her out of a shelter just outside Chicago and took her home with me, we have been a family. I have moved to three cities since then -- once all the way across the country -- and switched jobs, and moved in with a man, and watched the man move out, and lived with a girlfriend for a month, and lived with my grandpa for three months, and become pregnant. I've been a newswriter, a Blockbuster video girl, a waitress, an archivist, a web systems analyst, a nanny and a freelance writer. I've been blonde, and I've been brunette. I've become an aunt and been a bridesmaid. I starred in a musical and joined my college Alumni association.
In two years, I have been probably 100 different versions of myself, but Goldie has remained the one constant. Every morning, she whimpers and puts her wet nose on my arm until I roll out of bed, make a cup of coffee and take her for a walk. Then I give her a bowl of dry-wet dog food mix and a Milkbone when she eats all her breakfast. She sleeps while I go to work, and then it's time for another walk when I get home and again before bed. When she feels she isn't getting enough attention, she nudges me or sits on my computer keyboard until I pet her. Goldie knows when I'm sad, and positions herself right next to me during those times. She doesn't know where I go during the day, but she's content to have some peace and quiet time to herself. When I come home from Outback smelling like ranch dressing, blooming onions and steak, she knows I will have at least a bite of something yummy for her and she waits for it. She knows me better than anyone, and loves me no matter what.
While taking her for a walk this week, I stopped to talk to a neighbor. He petted Goldie and commented on what a well-behaved and happy dog she was. I could feel pride swelling up. That was my kid he was talking about, the one that I had been raising. And she wasn't feeling well a few days ago, and I found myself worried about her all day at work and breathing a huge sigh of relief when I got home to find her well and rested and feeling fine again. I watch her sleep, and track her bathroom habits (gross, I know) and give her vitamins to ease her arthritis. She is my baby -- someone totally dependent on me who I feel I take very good care of.
And I know my daughter will be 1000 times more of a responsibility and there will be days when I doubt my mothering abilities. But I know I'm ready for the next step, as long as Goldie is by my side.