A couple of weekends ago, we headed out to lunch with the grandparents…which, on the surface, is pretty routine.  That is, until a lady came by offering to make a dinosaur balloon for Zachary.

As she blew and twisted the balloons into shape, mommy’s anxiety level began to escalate.  Since before I can even remember, I have hated balloons (and scary looking clowns, but I digress).  The bigger the balloon, the scarier it got. And if a child is making that horrible sound when playing with it…you know the one where you just know it will break any second, as if the balloon is saying, help me…too late, Pop.

So, I must confess, I clearly have a ballon phobia. Trauma unknown, but deeply embedded in my brain. Thankfully, I can say that the little guy has no known phobias at  this time. Let’s hope it stay that way because there can be no look that is worse than an adult, covering her ears, running over children to get away from the balloon.  Yes, I clearly have issues.