This morning, I got up slightly later than usual - 9am. I thought to myself 'Great! I've got until 1:45 to clean up the house, then off to Baby Group we go!'. My little Mini-Me was still sleeping soundly, so I had time to make a cleaning master plan. After a quick breakfast, I would start with the kitchen and work my way upstairs.
Raspberry yogurt and a glass of cranberry and raspberry juice was all I got through, before realising the bins had not been taken out - again! Rushing to cram the ever-growing pile of nasties into black binbags, I noticed when emptying the upstairs bins that Mini-Me was somewhat groggily waking up.
Now usually, she is a very well-behaved and happy child, so when I picked her up and saw the big smile on her face I naturally thought - ah a pooh present for Mummy! - I should have known better. At almost 6 months, her cheeky attitude is coming into play. I was relieved to find only a wet nappy, but was in no way prepared for the ensuing mayhem soon to follow this small blessing. (Yes, little one, save all the poop for later when you greet Daddy! I thought smugly.)
It was all going well - CBeebies was entertaining her whilst I set up the highchair and prepared a little dish of solids (from handy squeezy packs bought at the supermarket) and placed her tiny spoon tastefully to one side in the dish. With a clean bum and fresh bib on, she was ready for fine dining. We got about half way though her tiny gourmet meal before I came to realise something was wrong. In my carefree way I had placed almost all the contents of the food pouch into the bowl, thinking she was getting hungrier by the day and would appreciate this.
Not so much.
What my Mini-Me did appreciate was the small expanse of kitchen that, in her view, was much in need of decorating. After giving her a second to play with the spoon, in an attempt to help her learn to feed herself, the bowl had slid just out of my reach. With one sudden movement, my daughter had flipped the bowl up and past her, flying dramatically through the air to land with a loud SPLAT behind her - the most unreachable corner of the kitchen.
To my dismay, my little almost 6-month daughter had not only plastered the floor with goop, but the door. She had skillfully managed to send the splatter across the whole length of our kitchen - wall to wall. (There was none on the actual walls, thank goodness.) I am proud to say I did not react at first, not until the goop was sticking to the underside of my feet, forbidding me from getting the much-needed wipes from the beige-carpeted living room. Luckily, I had recently bought some very high grade kitchen paper - so it was all good and I began my mission with this. The floor was restored to its original colour and the door looked more like a door again, and less a modern piece of food-art.
The next task was to make up her morning bottle. Whilst the kettle was boiling, I wiped up my little one as best I could. She somehow managed to keep herself relatively clean (although the kitchen most certainly wasn't- she had made sure of that!). It was a quick job, and about 15 minutes later she was happily drinking luke-warm milk in the living room.
Walking back into the kitchen, I realised the magnitude of the task ahead of me. There is no guarantee she will nap for long in the day, so as soon as I could I knew I must get on with cleaning up, and give the floor a proper mop. There was still the pile of washing up I had to get through, clothes had been left on the clotheshorse and I still had to make myself a decent breakfast. I saw the mess and the sticky floor and thought to myself 'Oh well...
I have to clean up the house anyway.'
No comments:
Post a Comment