I don't worry about bringing Bjorn to Meg's house like I do other people's. Her house is baby-proofed already. See, I have never seen a house as organized and stream-lined as hers.
Not stream-lined as in "modern". No. Just simple. If they don't use it everyday, it is not on the kitchen counter. (No Kitchen Aid mixer. No bread maker. No pasta machine.) Their computer desk holds a computer and a printer. (No bills waiting to be filed. No recipes cut from magazines. No %20 off Bed Bath & Beyond coupons.)
It's nice to not be surrounded by stuff.
Don't get me wrong, I like my stuff. I can tell you where I bought it, for how much and the original price. (Colonel Mustard in the Library with the Candlestick.) Usually I enjoy my stuff and can't imagine not being buried alive by it.
Then I head over to Meg's, where any stuff she might have automatically makes itself back onto the shelf, instead of lying on the floor for three days until someone steps on it. Where plates magically fly from the kitchen table into the dishwasher, and then are put away. (Not used directly from the dishwasher because putting them away takes too much effort.) Where little babies don't have anything to pull off end tables and don't find pieces of the last craft project still on the floor to eat.
So, I do love going to her house. It's a nice haven for my kiddo.
Except they don't have a dog.
Which is fine. Not everyone is a dog person. (I never actually thought I would meet one of these non-dog people persons; I thought they were a ghost story or a fairy tale. But I not only met, but befriended one, so I can tell you - they do exist.)
But we have a dog. A very greedy dog who acts as if she has never been fed. Never. Every day we roam the backyard seeing what treasures she has taken out the doggie door. (Yesterday was one sippy cup, two snack cups that were full of Kix and veggies, a stuffed bear - starting to fray at one ear - and a ziploc baggie that used to have some kind of food product in it.)
Bjorn has become used to his doggie. When I'm feeling casual and we have lunch on the living room ottoman, he takes half his sandwich and gives it to the dog, laughing the whole time.
When he is finished at the dinner table, he covertly drops the rest of his meal on the floor for her to enjoy.
For this, the Dog loves him.
It is a problem when we head over to non-dog friend's homes for dinner. While half of the yummy smelling pork roast and pasta salad heads into Bjorn's mouth (all at once, of course!), the other half goes to the floor for the dog. That they don't have.
I spend most of my after-dinner glow cleaning up on my hands and knees.
Think it would be ok for me to bring my dog everywhere my kid goes?