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Not once did the thought of being a lizard doula ever cross my mind. But that's where I found myself recently, sitting beside a 20-litre tub filled with warmed wet dirt, watching and encouraging our little girl lizard Izzie to lay her first clutch.

When I agreed to consider allowing reptiles into our house last fall, entirely because of my son's begging, my initial parental response was, "You have to prove to me that you are responsible enough to take care of them."

I felt so clever. I had effectively appeared supportive and responsible at the same time, while erecting a subtle but substantial (or so I thought) barrier to the reality of reptiles actually becoming family members.

He showed me. I was no match for the power of a nine-year-old boy who wants a pet. With the help of his sister and the Internet, he laid out the whole lizard-care landscape: their condominium (terrarium), room service (salad and insects), social activities (perch sites) and life expectancy (longer than one would expect). He had done his due diligence and I had to pony up my end of the deal. My husband reluctantly agreed.

I started to look around. The pet store was not an option. It would have cost well over $1,000 for the reptile, the tank and all the accessories. So to the classifieds I turned. We found our lizard - or lizards, rather - with all their gear relatively quickly and for a reasonable price.

I actually felt good about getting the little guys. They were rescue lizards, if you can believe that, and needed a good home. We hadn't planned on two, but they came as a pair and the person selling them assured us they were two girls.

All went well. The house got into the lizard groove, learning about lighting sources, substrates and gut loaded crickets. If lizards can be affectionate, our two were, both to each other and to us. They followed us with their heads when we came into the room, licked our hands when we put them in their tank and stayed on our shoulders when we took them out.

Then, a couple of months ago, we discovered the seller was wrong. They were not sisters.

My son came downstairs one morning quite upset. "Izzie and Lizzie are fighting and they won't stop."

As soon as I went upstairs to witness the lizard brawl for myself, I knew exactly what was going on. They weren't fighting, they were getting it on.

My head started to spin. I did a little reading of my own and found out it was advised to separate males and females. I only had one terrarium. One set of lights, one set of gear. I needed everything times two and quickly. Back to the classifieds.

By the time I got everything in the house and all set up, the reptiles had had four days of "lizard hugging." This extended affection could result in a very pregnant reptile, actually four times over (something ridiculous about continuous egg fertilization). A little natural selection would have been great at this point.

So we separated them and watched. My son crossed his fingers for evidence of eggs; I crossed my fingers for evidence of none. He won. Izzie started to show signs at the end of the second week.

What's a responsible pet owner to do but read about reptile pregnancy, birth, hatching and baby reptile care? My head started to spin again. We watched as she grew and grew, getting all fat and grape belly, just like the books described. The father wanted more "hugs," and leapt out of his condominium three times to get to her. We locked him in after that.

We watched closely for signs that she was ready. What do we know - we've never been through this before and, for that matter, neither had she.

Regardless of the hopeless inexperience on both sides, nature took over and she made use of the dirt that we had been warming for four days on our radiator. It was amazing. This little thing knew exactly what to do. She dug, she inspected, she rejected, then she started to dig again until she had just the right hole in which to lay her eggs.

All of us watched her in utter awe. We were respectful and let her do her thing, but I was surprised at the worry that came over me. How would she know what to do? How would I know if she was having difficulty, if she was egg bound, when to pull out the lizard soaking tub (we had one ready, by the way).

I murmured words of encouragement and stroked her head. She closed her eyes and, at around 8:30 p.m., laid 17 eggs. It was amazing. I cried. My son welled up. My daughter and husband laughed at me. But it was a proud moment. She had fulfilled her lizard procreation destiny and she came out the other end skinny but glowing. Ridiculous, I know. It's funny how a decision you think you might regret turns out to be one of the best life-learning opportunities.

The eggs are safely tucked away in their incubator. We've lost three, which is typical of a first clutch. My son made a calendar to count down the days until the hatching, and we're preparing for having 14 baby bearded dragons to care for. The house will be a busy place - they are active and furious eaters - until we are able to send them to the new owners we've found.

It will all be fine, unless Izzie starts to "grape up" again. I'll allow a few minutes for my head to spin, then I'll get the doula gear ready to go for round two.

Lori-Anne Jones lives in Halifax.

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