It’s funny when you scroll through the photos on Andy’s iPhone. Flynn at his current age and then getting younger and younger. Flynn eating. Flynn walking. Flynn swimming. Flynn sitting. Flynn rolling over. Flynn making a funny face. Many photos of tiny baby Flynn doing nothing at all. Then you see a photo of my very pregnant belly, and after that, Abbey. Abbey at the park. Abbey on the couch. Abbey begging for food. Abbey howling.

It’s a visual record of the shift of our attention. And man, poor Abbey. But lucky for Abbey, Flynn and Andy are off getting a head start on R&R, and so now I have nothing but Abbey on which to focus my attention. She’s been basking in the glory of thrice daily walks on the beach, unlimited snuggles in bed, and — most of all — no little boy diving on top of her for a “hug” as she tries to get in a nice snooze.

I’d like to think she’s going to be sad when I finally leave too, but really she’ll probably like that even more: her live-in dog sitter has never gotten the hang of properly portioning dog food.