I was mopping my ever more disgusting, dried peaches and cheerios, tons of dirt from the backyard, fallout from breakfast, high-traffic light tile kitchen floor. I was only able to do a speed sweep before the baby tried sampling used food items from my debris pile. I scooped up the pile and the baby putting one in the trash and the other in his Johnny Jump Up sling shot hanging in the nearby door way, respectively.
Since I never seem to have the side of the sink clean that I need for mop water, I fill a metal tub with soap and water from the spray nozzle (my pre-teen's favorite method of getting a drink lately). As I mop, the baby cries. He folds himself in half ignoring the tray that surrounds him for safety purposes and bangs his head into the door jamb. I console him while kneeling and scraping dried food. He seems to calm for a minute as I do a choreographed dance routine with a kitchen towel drying the wet spots so as to not have any more head injuries when my toddler comes down. I mop, he cries. I would stop but the floor is so bad that even the ants think it unsanitary.
An unfortunate earwig should have been as discerning. He ended up under my mop strands on a whirlwind visit of tile and grout that left him clean but deceased. At least he didn't start crying too.
Do you know why God made babies so cute? It is for days like these when they haven't left your side since midnight, wake you up at 5:00 A.M. and then they cry. My little man is the sweetest most beautiful baby in existence (since my other four are no longer babies), and I will enjoy staring at his precious mug as we curl up for a survival nap later today.
At least the floor is cleaner and I don't have to worry about that earwig sneaking up on me.
http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120112193758/clubpenguin/images/a/a8/Mop2.png
