Spit shine

I’ve spoken before on how a parent has to relearn how to do just about everything once a kid arrives.  Unless you have an extra set of hands, you’ll find yourself needing to make sandwiches, pour coffee, urinate, and make the bed one-handed.  Good days are when the baby is feeling fairly autonomous, allowing you to put her down in her swing or play gym for a good little while.  Great days are when the other parent is around so that you can play hot potato with the baby, intermittently allowing the other person do get a chore knocked out or just play a little game of Chicktionary on the iPad (one of my guilty pleasures). 

Saturday, we got greedy.  Will was outside dealing with the 4 metric tons of leaves from our water oak trees, whereas I was inside with Stella trying to tidy up the house a bit.  Since Stella didn’t seem inclined to have some good quality alone time, she ended up having to clean the house with mommy.  I plopped her in the Baby Bjorn and we commenced cleaning.  The kitchen can be dicey.  She now attempts to grab whatever is close to her, making opening the fridge, especially, perilous.  And loading a dishwasher results in the baby hanging suspended like stupid Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible every time I lean down to put something in it.  Still, with perseverance I soon had the kitchen somewhat squared away.

The last major chore was sweeping.  Our entire house has hard floors (either laminate, tile, or old parquet).  We do have a few throw rugs, but especially with 3 cats, sweeping is one of the biggest and most necessary chores.  I can’t stand walking down our hallway and seeing the hair tumbleweeds wafting behind me like a nasty wake.  So, despite the fact that I had not yet tried it, Stella was going to help mommy sweep.

There is one problem that would expect:  You don’t want to bop the kid with the broom or allow her to “help,” thereby scattering your dirt piles.  But after a few minutes, we had a decent system and were making good progress.  The next issue was actually getting the dirt piles into the dustpan, as you can’t really bend over too much (see Tom Cruise comment above).   So we squatted.  It was awkward, but we got the job done.

Then I felt a warm wetness running down my arm.  I glanced to see if it was vomit or drool (luckily, I guess, it was drool) and simply went to wipe it on my pants.  Since it WAS drool, it had a very low viscosity such that some fell to floor before I could dab it off on my clothes.  While I normally couldn’t care 2 licks less about drool on the floor, it was an issue when it fell on my dirt pile, mixing with the dust and hair to make a really foul slurry.  This I had to pick up with a paper towel.

Another lesson learned: beware falling blobs of drool when cleaning.


About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
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