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Something about being pregnant invites advice -- most of it bad.

Which is not to say that I don't now feel the urge to tell pregnant people all about my own experiences, with an eye towards improving theirs. I do, I do, I totally do. But I'm working hard to suppress it, because I remember how many needless things I stressed about that had happened to other people but never happened to me. (Not that I'm complaining, either. I had a very easy pregnancy.)

Anyway, one of the things that people said to me all the time had to do with pets -- namely, their eradication.

"Once the baby comes, you won't want the cats to be around," people said. Constantly. "They might sleep on the baby," said someone, inciting an eyeroll that I could barely hold till I got to the car, "they might hurt the baby accidentally," said someone else, causing me to totally stress out one night, "you won't have time for them and they might feel neglected," said the most reasonable of the advice-givers, at least in hindsight.

Some background: we have two cats. We got the second one to entertain the first, and now they're a horrible team.

That being said, when Baby J was born, they largely had no interest in him. I think they also sensed that a mislaid claw would result in their guilt-less execution. I would have done it with my own hands. It's very important to understand that you need to do what someone who is pregnant or recently pregnant wants. If you don't, you face the consequences at your own risk. At any rate, they pretty much steered clear.

Now that Baby J is a bit bigger and is beginning to be able to move around slightly more of his own volition, the cats are taking on a larger role.

The sight of them causes loud, full-body chuckles. Let one come close, and Baby J will lean earnestly towards it, reaching out his hand to embrace the fascinating sight. Orange is better about this, by the way, than Grey, not reacting at all when Baby J grasps handfuls of his flesh and fur and attempts to yank it out. Orange, reaching new heights of kitty masochism, will even let Baby J grab handfuls of his face and ears with nary a cry of discomfort.

Though right after Baby J was born, I wondered whether I'd ever really care about the cats again, I can now say confidently that I'm happy that they're here. Baby J loves them, and I think they sort of like him too. They make him laugh more than anything except for Freckles. As he grows older, I think it will be good for him to know about how to treat animals.

Even better, I read somewhere that children raised in houses encrusted in pet dander have fewer allergies. Score! Take that, people who think we should clean our house!