This morning was a lazy one for Isobel and a productive one for me, which I rewarded with a cup of coffee at my nearest Starbucks (that I, as usual, should not have spent money on). She watched the Jungle book and peed on the floor three times; I got some mopping and my taxes done. The taxes weren’t an emergency, the mopping was. Because of all of the peeing, you see.
Heed my warning, if the only way you can mop is while your kid is sleeping, but your kid isn’t sleeping: you could always say, “okay, into the highchair with finger paints for you!” But prepare thyself.
Once you’re done to your satisfaction and the floors are so clean you’d even be willing to eat off of them, without trace of that puddle or that one or those cheerios or, ugh, is that milk? your kid may be green. Because if you’re me, you’ve thought far enough ahead that you’ve made finger paints out of vanilla yogurt and food colouring. Because you know she’ll eat more than she’ll paint.
What I didn’t plan? No hot water for a bath afterwards. Washing green pudding off of 65% of Isobel’s body with a baby-sized cloth while she tries to run away and protests with her fists?
So not worth it.
