We brought Tootsie home this weekend and I think I deserve some serious accolodes from my third-grader for my good deed. Tootsie is her class hamster. She has no idea what a sacrifice this was for me as a motherd to allow a hamster in our home. I saw it as such a sacrfice that I want her to share the Tootsie story at my funeral some day as an example of the lengths I will go to to make my children happy at the expense of my own happiness.

I love pets. I write about pets. I’ve owned several pets over the years. But since we had a mouse infestation in our house (one of those lovely perks of building your own home that no one tells you) I can’t even think about a mouse without my skin crawling. Unfornately, all of these little pocket pets –hamsters, gerbils, mice, rats, etc.—all fit into this category for me now. I couldn’t watch The Tale of Desperaux or Ratatouille. It literally made me want to gag.

But when I looked into those big, earger, blue eyes of my daughter I couldn’t resist the begging anymore. She’s been begging me to bring Tootsie home all year and I’ve balked at every opportunity. The very thought of it makes the back of my throat start to get furry. But I didn’t want to disappoint her or pass on my fear of beady-eyed creatures on to my daughter, so I acquiesced and let her bring Tootsie home.

Overall, it was a positive experience. Aggie, our pug, was jealous. But that’s no surprise. She hates sharing affection and attention with anyone or anything. My husband volunteered (out of coercion) to supervise all out-of-cage experiences with Tootsie, so I didn’t have to fear any quick getaways by our furry visitor.

On Tuesday morning as I walked with my daughter to school, cage in hand, she beamed with pride. And frankly, so did I. I had overcome a fear or weakness of mine to provide a positive experience for my daughter. As she stood amongst her friends bragging about her awesome weekend of bonding with Tootsie she was in 8-year-old heaven. Some of her classmates, who had crowded around the cage to watch Tootsie scurry around his cage, piped up and said, “My mom hates rodents and won’t let me bring him home,” or “I wish I could bring Tootsie home but my mom won’t let me.”

 I turned to her and said, “See what a cool Mom you have. I let you do this even though it made me really uncomfortable.”

She looked up at me and said, “Hmmm…” Not exactly oozing with gratitude. But someday she’ll speak about her mother and hopefully remember that I put her needs above my own and made charitable sacrifices for her happiness. It’s one of the gems of motherhood that you have to wait 10 years, or 20 years, or many years until your children can verbalize appreciation for what you’ve done to guarantee them a happy childhood. I just hope I don’t have to wait until my funeral to have the words spoken.