When I first started dating, the “kids or no kids” question perplexed me. On one hand, I wanted to date a man who had children so he could understand the complexity of my life as a mother. I also needed him to understand that he would not be my main priority, because my kids were. On the other hand, I didn’t want to have to deal with the man’s complex parenting schedule and I certainly didn’t want to have to babysit his kids. As in most matters that confuse me, I asked my friends for their advice.
Ironically, the friends who were the strongest advocate for dating dads were the ones whose relationships were in peril due to their attempts at blending families. “But you always say it’s a pain in the ass trying to co-parent someone else’s kids and that your schedules are unmanageable.”
“God, you’re right. We just had a huge fight about that last night. Never mind, go for the guys without kids.”
I took their advice to heart and dated a series of childless twenty-something-year olds. Yes, they were fun. Yes, they were carefree. And yes, eventually I needed something more.
I devised a plan to date a father of college-aged kids. This way he would have the father knowledge and understanding, but I would never be asked to change a diaper. Even better, I may get a few free babysitters out of the deal. As happens with most of my well-thought out plans, none of this occurred. I dated a few men with young kids and then fell in love with a man without kids.
The new boyfriend did have a rather large dog, but I didn’t see how this could impact our relationship. His dog didn’t wear diapers, nor did he have a complicated social life, and he came with his own live in dog walker, so my only encounters with him were a few pats on the head. But then the dog walker moved out and my boyfriend became a “single dad.” Although he tried to prep me about this shift, I was blissfully ignorant about what being a step-mom to a dog really meant.
I offered to watch Felix, the dog, one day when I was home with the kids and their friends. Felix is part Terrier, part Pit bull, making him a confusing mutt. Kids understand his personality is all Terrier, so love him, but adults are terrified by his Pit-bull body. About four blocks into our walking of Felix, we had to turn around. The kids all wanted to hold his leash and didn’t understand my insistence that it was taking every ounce of strength I had to restrain his seventy pound body from racing after every squirrel, cat, stroller, dog, and leaf we passed. The Terrier in Felix makes him bark at every dog in a “let’s play” way, but again, all that is heard is the Pit-bull and dog owners run for their life.
We returned from our walk, the kids ran off to play, and I flopped on the couch for some down time. “What?” I said to Felix, who wouldn’t stop looking at me expectantly. “Go play with the kids, they’re more fun. All I’m going to do is stare at the wall.” But he didn’t believe me and continued to expect great things from me.
When his dad came to pick him up, I was once again flattened on the couch. “It’s a lot to watch four kids all day, huh?” he said. “No, that’s easy. All they want from me is some food every now and then, but you’re dog. God, that’s exhausting.” He laughed and said, “I guess it depends on what you’re used to.”
At times, I thought I was getting used to Felix. When he peed in every room of my house, twice, I didn’t complain. When he repeatedly terrorized my cat, I said, “She’ll get used to him.” When he slobbered all over my windows and tracked mud throughout my house, I told myself this was a good exercise in becoming less anal. But I could never fully relax around him. It made me feel guilty when he eagerly followed me everywhere. His perky ears and expectant looks wore me out. “What do you want?” I’d ask him. He wagged his tail excitedly in response. “This is it bud,” I said, pointing to the couch or my computer. “This is what I do all day. Lie down and get comfortable, because we’re not going anywhere.” But Felix is an eternal optimist. He keeps wagging and pacing, hoping one day, I’ll do something exciting.
His optimism continues on through out the night. When not snoring and monopolizing half of my king size bed, he’ll jump from window to window, ever tantalized by all of the sights and smells of Ballard. After a night of this, mixed in with my boyfriend tossing and turning, sighing, and peeing (in the toilet at least) several times from four to six a.m. I said, “We may need to talk about your dog.”
OK, really I said, “Time for you and your dog to go home,” but eventually I came around to the more polite version. “It’s not that I don’t like Felix, it’s just that he sort of got sprung on me. We’ve been slow about integrating you with my kids so you wouldn’t feel as if you gave birth to a six and eight year old. Well, I feel as if I gave birth to an eighty pound dog and frankly, I want to put him up for adoption.”
“I understand,” he said with amazing tolerance for five a.m., “but I don’t want to leave him alone all night after he’s already been alone all day.”
“I get that, but how would you feel if my kids were constantly with us? Pawing us when we’re trying to have sex and keeping us awake all night?”
He shuddered in response.
I covered Felix’s ears and said, “Sometimes, I just want to be alone with you. I think it’s time we talked about the occasional babysitter.”
If nothing else, my marriage and subsequent divorce, taught me trying to maintain a relationship with your partner without babysitters is impossible. I just never thought that rule applied to dogs as well.

Corbin Lewars is the author of Creating a Life: The memoir of a writer and mom in the making, which was nominated for the 2011 Pacific Northwest and Washington State book awards. Her essays have been featured in over twenty-five publications including Mothering and Hip Mama. She has been a writing coach and instructor for fifteen years and sees clients in the old Carnegie Library Building in Ballard. She is currently offering a 20 for $20 special, twenty-minute coaching/editing sessions for $20. Contact her for details.