1 Mother 2 Another

The other day Cora and I were in a public
restroom – Cora sitting on the potty, me staring politely at
the back wall. This is how we do it. A moment of silence, and then
Cora said amiably, “You know, Mommy, Chiwallas are baby
dogs.”


A Chiwalla, in case you wondered, is a Chihuahua. Sure, I could
correct her, but who wants to? It’s so darn cute every time
she says it.


“Some Chihuahuas are baby dogs, you’re right, honey.
But some are grown-up dogs.”


“No, Mommy, a baby dog is called a Chiwalla.”

“Sorry, kiddo, that’s not
right. A Chihuahua is a type of dog – like a Labrador, or a
Dalmation. There are grown-up Chihuahuas and baby Chihuahuas. A
baby dog is called a puppy, no matter what type of dog it
is.”


Silence, as Cora struggles with her skirt. “Are you trying to
say that some Chiwallas – the tiny dogs – are
grown-ups?”


Relief. “Yes. Yes, I am.”


A hand comfortingly on my shoulder. “Oh, Mommy, you need to
do some more reading. I hate to tell you, but it’s just not
true.”


Cora goes to wash her hands and chortles to herself. “A
Chiwalla that’s a grown-up dog! That’s a good
one.” And she strides confidently out of the bathroom.


So confidently that I stand there a moment thinking, AM I wrong?


Oh, to have the ego of a child.