Mommy’s Law:

(n.) An adage or maxim that states that as soon as one thinks that everything is going wonderfully, something must occur to knock one down a peg, or two. 
For instance, take this morning:
Our day started out beautifully
I woke up early, got dressed and set off for a morning walk to our favorite bagel shop, 
with my husband, parents, the baby, Lola and Ziggy. 
We enjoyed a glorious stroll in the sunshine, 
stopping to chat with baby-admirers, 
and yentas, alike. 
On our way back, bagels in hand, we came across a large, burly man with his small, white dog. 
“Aww, that looks like a sweet dog.” My dad said. 
To be PC, this dog did not look normal. Her tail was between her legs, and she seems skittish. 
Before I could  admonish my father or warn my husband, the husband gave some slack to Lola’s leash, allowing her to sniff the white puppy, 
who promptly dropped to the ground and peed on the pavement. I told you. Not normal. Well, before Lola could get any closer to AbbyNormal, we were interrupted by a piercing scream from above. 
“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” Shouted a little boy, who came running down from a balcony and onto the street where we stood.
“She has GIRARDIA!!! It is CONGTAGIOUS!!! To  ANIMALS!!! And HUMANS!!!!!”
The man with the dog, who was seemingly the boy’s father, scratched his large (my head all full of stuffin’) noggin and said, “Uhhhhhhhh guhhhhh guhhhhh I don’t uhhhhh think it’s contagious guhhhhh.” What grown man lets their dog get near a tiny Yorkshire Terrier Princess dog who obviously belongs to a tiny Princess baby? I not-so-quietly called him a buffoon (or something not-s0-PC) and we strolled along. 
Except, of course,  I freaked out. 
My parents joked about how long it would take for me to grab the computer to start Google-ing Girardia. 
Little did they know I had already started to research it from my husband’s cell phone. 
I was not messing around. 
We walked, 
they laughed, 
I scoured the internet. 
The answers I found online should have assuaged my fears, but, of course, they didn’t, 
so as we continued to walk, 
(and continued to impersonate the little boy, who we believe must have been traumatized by his dog’s diagnosis, for his reaction was clearly the result of some pent up Girardia-related-issues) 
I decided to give our Vet a little early Saturday morning ring. 
They assured me that Girardia could not, in fact, be transmitted through sniffing. 
I felt much (not all. definitely not all.) better, 
and joined in on the impersonations. 
Seriously. Say it out loud. Try it in slow motion. “NOOOOOOOO!!! SHE HAS GIRAAAAARRRDDDIIIIAAAA!!!”
It was just too much. 
I made sure to scold my dad, telling him that he was a bad judge of dog character. 
Of course, this caused another eruption of laughter, 
at my expense. 
It’s always at my expense. 
They may say I’m a crazy-person. But I’m not the only one. The little boy from the balcony will join me. And the world will live as one. 


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