Puppy on the Brain
How having a puppy changes things
I knew going into this it was going to be a lot of work, it was going to be sleepless nights as the puppy cries or howls while i am trying to catch up on sleep. I knew it was going to be cleaning up after his messes and doing it all again until they learn. I knew what was expected when I would get a puppy. Well, now I have a puppy named Chester, but I was not expecting to be this tired after a puppy...I was going to quit Starbucks for the tenth time and of course that's what is fueling me through this change. I let him out on a leash, and I am following what all the books are telling me because the internet is inconsistent in puppy training. After letting him out, he does not do a lot, but then I bring him in and bam! he is peeing in that darn corner again. Then, you need to feed him, and you go into the kitchen to clean his bowl and bam! there he is again peeing. Then, you change their diet and bam diarrhea on the kitchen floor. Then, there's this voice in my head "children are ten times more work" and I can't wrap my head around it. Of course, i want children I also have, but then the puppy is just chewing on the furniture...children draw on furniture and walls all the time. How do you stop them? You need to watch them one hundred percent of the time, with a puppy you can leave them in the corner for five minutes at least or in the pen and you know they will not die, you can't do that with a baby. I am thirty years old; I should not have to feel this old; I should not have to feel like this without having babies or children and then I see friends of mine having kids and they just don't look as exhausted as I am. But then you get these cute puppy moments and every time he has an accident, I am reminded that he is so cute, and I would do anything for the little guy. Then, i realize that this is what parents must feel like, they might be exhausted, but then their own kids have these moments too, where a kid can say something so ridiculous you laugh so hard, and it brings you so much joy. Just like when my puppy clumsily flops around the floor or when he is barking at his hairbrush thinking it's so scary. Then, I am waking up a full forty-five minutes early to feed Chester, to make sure he has water, to make sure he has a walk before I leave him for work (don't worry, my husband checks in on him and he and I can work from home) Then, i get home and I repeat, but I feel so much better mentally, I feel rested and at peace. I feel healthier because I have to walk more due to having a puppy who needs exercise, I have been losing weight which is so beneficial. I love having a dog to come home to, and I find I have more motivation to show up to work to earn money for my puppy. Now, at the end of every workday I think about how I get to spend time with my dog and it gives me more purpose. A goldendoodle was a breed I never thought I would have living in my house or even a dog, I never thought I would have, but I do and even though it's so much work. I am happy to have him in my life.
About the Creator
Ada Zuba
Hi everyone! here to write and when I’m not writing, I’m either looking for Wi-Fi or avoiding real-world responsibilities. Follow along for a mix of sarcasm, random observations, and whatever nonsense comes to mind. "We're all mad here"
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For the longest time, I believed my life was simply paused. Not broken. Not finished. Just waiting. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting for the right person. Waiting for something—anything—to arrive and change everything. I didn’t know exactly what I was waiting for, but I was sure it would come. People always said things like “It’ll get better” or “Your time will come”, and I clung to those words like promises written in invisible ink. I believed that if I endured long enough, life would eventually reward my patience. So I waited. I waited quietly, because I didn’t want to be a burden. I waited politely, because I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I waited silently, because I didn’t even know how to explain what was wrong. From the outside, my life looked acceptable. I functioned. I showed up. I smiled when it was expected of me. I laughed at jokes that didn’t reach my heart. I answered “I’m fine” so often that it started to feel like muscle memory. But inside, something was eroding. 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That realization didn’t arrive with clarity or relief. It arrived like grief. Heavy. Sharp. Unforgiving. I remember sitting alone, staring at nothing in particular, and feeling the truth settle into my bones. There would be no rescue. No sudden turning point delivered by someone else’s effort. No moment where everything magically aligned and lifted me out of my own life. It wasn’t that people didn’t care. It was that everyone was busy surviving their own storms. I had been waiting for someone to save me from a life that only I was living. And for a while, that realization shattered me. I felt abandoned by the world, betrayed by hope itself. I questioned every prayer I had whispered into the dark, every moment I had chosen patience over action. I wondered if I had misunderstood life completely—if the promises I believed in were never meant for people like me. I mourned the version of myself who thought endurance alone was enough. There is a special kind of loneliness that comes from realizing your pain is invisible. That no matter how heavy it feels to you, the world keeps moving at the same pace. Bills still need to be paid. Responsibilities still demand attention. Smiles are still expected. So I kept going. But something inside me had cracked open. Once you see the truth, you can’t unsee it. And the truth was this: waiting had become my hiding place. Hope, without action, had become an excuse to stay small. I had been standing still, convincing myself that stillness was strength. It wasn’t. Saving myself didn’t begin with confidence. It began with fear. Fear of staying the same. Fear of waking up ten years later in the same emotional place. Fear of realizing that I had wasted my own life waiting for permission to live it. I didn’t suddenly become brave. I became tired of being helpless. The first steps were almost embarrassing in their simplicity. There was nothing poetic about them. 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You were doing the best you could with what you knew. But you don’t have to wait anymore. Sometimes, saving yourself doesn’t mean changing everything. It means choosing yourself once—then choosing yourself again tomorrow. And one day, you’ll look back and realize that the moment nobody came was the moment your life truly began.Start writing...
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Comments (1)
Enjoy your new baby. Think of it as a little practice before you have a child. I was so looking forward to seeing a puppy picture of Chester