Two...almost three...years ago, I had a baby named Cooper. For four days, he was mine. Or so I thought. And then he wasn't.
And earlier this year, my neighbors got a puppy, and named him Cooper. It was something I contemplated naming my own dog. But it felt like I was naming my dog after a dead baby. Even though he -- the baby -- wasn't dead, that's the way I have to think about him. And so I named my puppy Bernie (after Bernie Williams). And then, Cooper came home a month later.
I told Lee -- who we will forever just refer to now as EB (ex-boyfriend) -- that it bothered me, that I would get over it, but it bothered me that they took my baby's name. This, of course, after I had to remind him of the Cooper situation in my life. And then he literally said, I have to take a shower, I'll talk to you tomorrow.
I was dumbfounded. And hurt. And we actually broke up the next day.
Suddenly, Cooper the dog was not the biggest worry in my life. After a few month of trying to figure out if the unhappiness I was experiencing in the relationship, if the things I felt were missing were just compromise or really and truly things that were missing.
And having EB not "get" why having a Cooper live next to me was initially going to be difficult was the bitch slap in the face. This wasn't about compromise, this was a basic need not getting met.
And so Cooper the dog became about how boyfriend became ex-boyfriend and not about my once-baby.
And now Cooper the dog is really just about how he is the arch-nemisis of Bernie and there is no negative connotation for me. (other than I really want Bernie to like him.)
So thanks EB for making it hurtful in a different way, but also a much easier hurt to get over.