Of Kitties and Babies

My daughter is a Karen. No, that’s not her name. I’ll explain.

My husband grew up hating cats. This caused tension when we moved in together, because I immediately wanted to get a cat. He insisted that he was a dog person, which I blew off because in my experience, most “dog people” have never met a great cat. He also insisted that he was severely allergic to cats, and said he “didn’t want to be miserable for the rest of his life.” So dramatic. To his credit, he sniffled and sneezed uncontrollably whenever he entered my parents’ house, which is also home to two cats, but a steady stream of Claritin kept his wheezing to a minimum.

About six months into our marriage, we were visiting my brother when his roommate’s beautiful Himalayan cat, Bear, came out to sniff my husband. I’m not sure what possessed my husband to pick up Bear, but he did, and he did not have an allergic reaction. We learned that miraculous day that he is not allergic to my favorite breeds of cats, i.e., any cat with a large, flat, smushed face. And so we got Kevin.

Kevin was a five-year-old Exotic Longhair who was being bullied by his cat roommates in south Orange County. We brought him to live with us, and immediately fell in love. He’s chill and independent until he decides that he wants some cuddles, and then he lies on top of me and the computer, demanding attention. He loves dental floss and would love nothing more than to take a nap on my work papers. He has had almost no health problems, and he grooms himself with care.

When my husband and I found out I was pregnant, we decided to get Kevin a kitty friend so that he wouldn’t feel lonely when the baby came. And so we got Karen.

Karen was a two-year-old Exotic Longhair who needed a home. She looked so much like Kevin that we assumed she would have a similar personality, but she’s not a Kevin. She’s a Karen. She’s fiercely loyal and loving (i.e., SUPER needy). She doesn’t seem to know how to groom herself, and always looks disheveled, even if we just brushed her. Her eyes need constant cleaning. She wakes us up in the middle of the night because she feels the need to meow VERY loudly when she’s carrying her blue dog toy in her mouth. She zips around the house, sliding on rugs and knocking things over. And even though we adopted Karen so that Kevin wouldn’t be lonely, she’s the one who was upset when the baby arrived.

My husband and I like to joke that if we had gotten Karen first, there would be no Kevin. But Kevin made having a cat seem so easy that we got a second one. We were duped!

That’s what I mean when I say that my daughter is a Karen. She does not make having a child seem easy. She makes it seem exhausting.

She started the terrible twos at her first birthday party, when she said her first word (“Me! Me! Me!") and seemingly uncovered a very strong will. While I swore I would never raise a picky child, she only wants to eat pasta, eggs, and blueberries. And she is currently going through a phase where she wakes up between 4:00-5:45 a.m. every morning. She demands a bottle, and then sometimes goes back to sleep, but more often than not, she’s up for the day. I’ve tried bringing her into bed with me, but instead of falling asleep, she lays on top of me, kicks her legs, and re-positions her head every 30 seconds.

She’s not a chill Kevin. She’s a demanding, messy Karen. And yet, when she’s lying on my chest at 4:30 a.m. and she loudly shushes me because “Daddy sleeping,” my half-awake mind thinks, “we should have another baby. Immediately."