The first time my mom came over to babysit my newborn daughter for a couple hours, I guess I should have showered or napped, but all I wanted to do was take my dog out for a walk. It was early March, and as I stepped outside of my scarcely lit townhouse with her, I inhaled one of the first breaths of fresh air since my February baby was born. The cold was starting to break, the snow was beginning to melt and it was just my 14-year-old dog and me, like old times. As she did her little laps around me like a miniature wiry, white-and-brown tumbleweed, twisting me in her leash, it took me back to life before I was consumed by the exhaustion and relentless responsibilities of new parenthood. I felt so free.
I knew this exhilarating sense of independence was only fleeting. Any opportunities I could spend with her?or with myself?since the baby was born, were few and far between. We both had to accept taking a backseat to new demands. Brooklyn, my spry and sensitive Jack Russell Terrier who trembled at the sound of thunder, was no longer allowed under the covers in the same bed where I was co-sleeping. And her wobbly knees made it more difficult for her to climb to the third-floor bedroom where we spent most of our time. As I healed from childbirth under self-imposed bed rest, my husband was on full-time doggie duty. He took her out three or four times a day, wrestled with her on the floor, and kept her on her toes by hiding her treats in random places, like in a shoe or under a cu...