When I think back to the pandemic, I don’t just remember the fear, the uncertainty, or the long stretches of isolation—I remember Bailey. She was my anchor, my comfort, and in so many ways, my first born child. I brought her home when the world felt like it was spinning out of control, and somehow this tiny ball of fur steadied me. She became my daily routine, my reason to step outside for a walk, and a constant source of joy in those heavy, quiet days.

She wasn’t just mine, though. Bailey became a companion for my dad too. She’d curl up by his side, follow him from room to room, and bring light into spaces that sometimes felt too dark. Watching their bond softened me in ways I didn’t expect. She wasn’t just a pet—she was family.

Those years had us bouncing between Dallas and Washington, D.C., trying to stay close to loved ones. Bailey never complained. She was just happy to be with us, always my travel buddy and my shadow—the one constant in a world where everything else felt uncertain.

When the world began to reopen, our biggest challenge wasn’t commuting or returning to work—it was separation anxiety. After being inseparable for so long, learning to spend hours apart was painful for both of us. But over time she grew more independent. She stopped crying at the door when I left. She started sleeping in her own bed instead of mine. I should have been relieved, but the truth is—it broke my heart a little.

Her independence didn’t mean her love for me faded. She still greets me with her whole body wagging, still curls up at my feet, still looks at me like I’m her world. She just found her own balance between closeness and confidence.

Now, as I prepare to welcome a baby, I wonder how Bailey will adjust. People often tell me my relationship with her will change, and maybe it will, but I don’t want it to. She’s been my partner through some of the hardest seasons of my life, and I hope she always stays that way. I don’t ever want her to become an afterthought or, worse, someone I resent. She deserves to remain what she has always been—my companion, my family, my first child.

Bailey has already taught me so much about patience, unconditional love, and the joy of caring for someone else. Loving her has been a quiet rehearsal for motherhood. She may not sleep in my bed anymore, but she’ll always have a permanent place in my heart. And soon, she’ll step into a new role—big sister.

What Bailey has shown me is that love grows and stretches, even when life shifts. She’s been my first born, my teacher, and my partner in the hardest seasons. And as our family expands, I trust that she’ll continue to remind me of a simple truth: love doesn’t get divided, it multiplies.