The First Visit

The glamorous new mama and the angel bébé 

Let's just say that Claire's first visit to the Short Jewish Grandma's Palatial Estate could've gone better. In terms of planning, there was bupkis. But these days, planning anything seems iffy. Three months (who's counting) of Quarantino and I'll take any joy, planned or otherwise, that comes my way. So when the new papa called mid-afternoon on Sunday and asked, "Can we come over and celebrate French Mother's Day?" what was a new grammala to say other than, "How soon can you get here?" In that moment of spontaneity, I'll admit, a few things escaped me, such as this guy...

Sir Blakey has no idea what's about to go down.

In terms of sweet angel bébés, the Royal Rescue Pup found himself in unfamiliar territory. Of course, I'd read up on the topic of "dogs and babies" a while back. I had a semi-plan in place. Just the other day, I'd asked the sleep-deprived new parents for something of Claire's so that Blakey could get used to her smell before he met her. I received blank stares and the offer of a used diaper. "I'm talking a burp cloth or a blankie." More stares. I figured I'd circle back when they'd had more than two consecutive hours of shut-eye.

Speaking of which, Claire kept dozing as Blakey went certifiably "coco," whining, sniffing, overreacting to every noise she made. I clicked into hyper-alert. "GET THE LEASH!" I yelled. "GET THE LEASH!!!!" "Ma, calm down," Scotty advised. That didn't go over well. Never tell an unhinged gal to calm down. "HURRY!" I screamed at longtime hubby.

As for the newborn owner of many colored bows, she remained adorably unbothered, ignoring the canine kvetching and confusion that continued, on and off, for longer than I care to recall.

Blakey calmed down, eventually. After they left.