When my dad made his speech at my wedding 30 years ago, he said, "Life doesn't begin at 40. It begins when the kids move out and the dog dies."

I'm pretty sure he was talking about his life, not mine, since I had neither kids nor a dog at that point. But he did, and he was apparently thrilled that my husband would be taking me off his hands. Not that I was that much of a burden. But if my kid was all that was standing between me and a trip to Bermuda, I guess I'd want my kid to move out, too.

Seeing how elated my father was that his life was about to get significantly better without a dog and kids, I assumed that when my kids moved out and my dog died, I'd be dancing in the streets, too.

Fast-forward 30 years.

I was somewhat OK when my kids moved out.

I was somewhat OK when we sold the house they grew up in.

But when the dog died, I did not feel like going to Bermuda, or even the mall to celebrate the end of my responsibilities. I felt like I'd lost my purpose in life and had no idea what to do with myself without cleaning up dog poop and trying to explain to my dog why socks are not the ideal meal of choice for canines. In truth, I don't think it was only about the dog dying. I think it was the one-two-three punch of the kids, the house and the dog.

That's when I got a plant. I had never been a big plant person, but when my daughter gifted me a small monstera plant, I poured my life's energy into making sure that monstera grew up big and strong.

All I can say about that is, be careful what you wish for. In my renewed sense of purpose, I somehow didn't notice the monstera had grown to be five feet wide and four feet tall. It had, in a sense, grown into a person.

There is, apparently, a reason the name "monstera" has the word "monster" in it.

Naturally, I didn't mind this. While I couldn't pet the monstera or take it for a walk, it did seem to help me deal with all the loss I'd experienced over the past few years. My husband, however, did not seem to be a fan of the behemoth plant that would soon need its own bedroom and place setting at the dinner table. He suggested I cut the plant back, but I refused. I liked the behemoth just the way it was.

Then one night, after the monstera tried to push my husband out of bed, my husband hit his limit.

"You need to cut that thing back," he declared. "It's too big. It's going to need its own ZIP code soon."

"I like it like it is," I argued. "It has a stately presence."

"Honey, its stately presence is taking over the apartment," he said. "It's either the monstera or me."

I scowled, and then thought for a moment.

"OK, fine," I finally said. "But how about we get another dog?"

Tracy Beckerman is the author of the Amazon Bestseller "Barking at the Moon: A Story of Life, Love, and Kibble," available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble online! You can visit her at www.tracybeckerman.com.

Photo credit: pasakorn8475 at Pixabay