So besides E and Baby Evan and I, three other family members live in our house.

First is the oft-photographed Brutus, the world’s most patient dog. E and I adopted him in Ohio in December 2006. He’s part lab, part German Shepperd, part mutt. His favorite activities include sitting on furniture, shedding, eating baby spit up, belly rubs, and tricking unsuspecting house guests into taking him for walks.

Patient dog is patient with Babyzilla

I’ve also posted pictures of Blushes, my cat since college. I adopted her in October of 2002. Blushes was supposed to be named Lady Katrina Von Mousington, but the ladies at the animal shelter in South Carolina asked me to keep they name they had given her. Her favorite activities include torturing the dog, sneaking into laps, shedding, throwing up in unfortunate places, “escaping” from the house only to discover outside is too cold and scary, eating people food and letting the baby lie on her.

Babyzilla stalks another unsuspecting victim

And finally, meet Rabbit (named as such because she’s jumpy). E and I thought Blushes would be happier with a friend (she originally had a brother but he belonged to my ex). We adopted Rabbit in 2004 while living in a tiny apartment in Virginia Beach. We thought she loved petting and cuddles but it turns out she was just so PARALYZED WITH FEAR she couldn’t run away. In reality, she’s evil. Possibly possessed. And she hates E with the burning fire of a thousand super novas. Since we brought the baby home she barely ventures downstairs any more and spends 99% of her time sleeping on the guest bed. Her favorite activities include peeing on E’s pillow, catching and torturing mice by chewing off their feet, eating rubber bands, drinking from the toilet, sleeping, shedding and plotting our deaths.

Welcome to your DOOM.

So if you ever come to the house, please excuse the pet hair.

Based on his habit of carrying stuff around in his mouth, Baby Evan seems to be confused as whether the dog is his pet or his brother. Since animals outnumber babies in our house 3 to 1 and he spends most of his time down at cat and dog level anyway, I shouldn’t be too surprised he’s starting to mimic their behavior.  Since the dog’s idea of “fetch” involves staring at the bone/ball/rag and then running in frantic cirlces, Baby Evan probably learned fetch from the cat. She’s much more likely to bring you things (a baby sock she thoughtfully dropped in the water bowl, a plastic twisty tie, a live bat she caught and needed to show you so much she puts it on your head while you’re sleeping YES THAT IS A TRUE STORY) whether you want them or not. I wonder if I should try telling him most babies don’t do ridiculous stuff like this?

Mmmm...this leather shoe is so delicious I don't want to put it down.

How come when I put shoes in my mouth they yell at me but YOU just get your picture taken?

What do you mean I have something on my face?

And in case you needed further proof my baby is having an indentity crisis…

What, I like milk and cuddles and sleeping too. Meow?

I'm in your yarns, making up knots!

Contamination contained. We set up a perimeter. No babies will be escaping from this facility. Now our evil plans can begin mwahahahahahahahaaaaaaaa!

Since rolling has quickly turned into scooting in circles and the occasional attempt to push up on his knees we decided it was time to get started on the baby-proofing. Of course, just like EVERYTHING ELSE about parenthood, you can only be prepared for half of it. The things you thought you absolutely had to have (ahem BUMBO SEAT) were totally unnecessary and you end up running through the street at 11:00 pm throwing money at anyone who promises to get you the stuff you neeeeeeeed.

The real victims of the baby proofing are our pets. The stupid evil cat can’t figure out how to get through the gate (hint: YOU JUST WALK THROUGH IT YOU’RE A CAT). The dog can no longer run to the front door and greet every single visitor we have OMG TRAGIC. And the stupid nice cat has already decided she’d prefer if I opened it FOR her so she sits and meows. Odds are we’re going to have at least one poop on the floor incident before we reach acceptance. Although since the gate is between the couch and the bathroom, I wouldn’t rule E out of that race. Kidding honey!

When I got home from work my dog Brutus was sleeping peacefully in his crate. We don’t lock him in during the day anymore, since his desire to eat our furniture has abated. When he saw me he came out, wagged his tail, and waited patiently for me to open the back door. Brutus went out and watered my begonias, turned around, came back in and lay on the floor. Wow, what a great dog! I thought to myself. I am so lucky to have such a wonderful, sweet, well mannered dog, especially since I don’t have the energy to deal with a bad dog right now. I bet someday Brutus will save the baby from drowning, or alert us all to a fire, or tell me Timmy fell down the well just in time for Hugh Jackman to run in and save the day. (My mind is not well right now.)

Then I walked around the corner and right into the trail of chewed platic, half eaten styrofoam, bits of paper and God knows what else Brutus had dragged out of the trash can and strewn around the the first floor.

Stupid dog sure had me fooled. We should have just stuck with cats. I thought bitterly.

Until I got upstairs to find the cat had pooped on a pile of clean laundry.