Sigh. I want a puppy again.
It happens every single year around this time. During the weeks leading up to Thomas' birthday I crave puppies.
Which sounds kind of weird, I admit. For a number of reasons, but particularly since I'm such and ardent cat lover - and devoted owner of the world's greatest feline ever.
I get that it's because I want something little to snuggle and love. I get that I'm trying to fill the gap. Close the wound. Distract myself. That makes sense. In a twisted way (and, in case you're concerned, I'm well aware that you can't replace children with puppies).
But what I couldn't figure out until today was why it only happens now - why it doesn't seem to happen during the rest of the year. I mean, it's not like puppies are seasonal, after all.
What dawned on me today, is that along with wanting something new and little to snuggle and love, I crave a puppy because it was in the dying days of winter that we were waiting, with so much excitement and anticipation, for an addition to our family.
It's the anticipation. Or anticipation's ghost, if you will. I still have it, and have no reason for it anymore.
So apparently I've invented one.
It's the same reason I still get that "back to school" feeling in August, even though it's been years since I packed up a knapsack and headed to class. Habit.
Those weeks before Thomas was born were so exciting, and I have connected it with the season; with the small hints of spring in longer days and brief thaws, and the overwhelming joy of the coming new season.
Which, of course, brought sorrow unlike anything I'd ever known before. But right now, my brain is just remembering the anticipation. The good bits prior to the world imploding.
And with nary a baby in sight, and all this focus-less anticipation, it has also set its sights on a puppy.
This year, a Norfolk Terrier.