Some days it seems like all I do is navigate puddles.
A puddle of juice here, from where Mr. Independent opened his own juice box, or from where that same child left his opend juice box somewhere where little Mr. Opportunist could get to it.
A puddle of drool there. If I could figure out any way in the world to market baby drool as a skin softener, I'd be rich! Or maybe as a Cloth Diaper safe detergent, doesn't saliva have natural enzymes in it?
A puddle of pumped breastmilk, from a certain someone attempting circus tricks while I was taking care of the screaming baby. Note to self, never leave the milk in the living room by the pump...
A puddle of something on the bathroom floor, discovered by my bare foot. Really, not sure if it was water from the faucet or...water from...somewhere else...
My clean floors or newly shampooed rug serve as the perfect canvases for puddles of any bright color, and if it can possibly ferment, sour, or in any way shape or form leave an odor, all the better! We won't even talk about how both children must have wonderful careers ahead of them in furniture fabric design!
But at the end of the day, when I kiss them good night and hear "I wuvs you, Mama." I melt into another puddle right outside their room. And that's the puddle that makes cleaning up all the rest of them more than worth the effort.
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