Tonight I decided that I’d had enough with Maggie’s high chair. I stripped it down, threw the cover in the wash, the trays in the dishwasher and the entire frame outside to hopefully be washed clean by the rain. I fear that nothing short of a monsoon will clean that dang thing, however. It’s amazing how all the little crevices fill with particles of food; grody, gross, gross! No matter how many times I wipe it down it seems to become more and more disgusting.
Today Krista and Will came to visit (more on that another day) and she commented that the space under Will’s chair at their home is called Will’s Compost Pile. I think I might steal that term and add it to a few places around our house, minus Will’s name, of course. Graham crackers, cheese bits, avocado, mango, pears, bread and whatever else Maggie eats has shown up in the strangest of places.
Somebody recently asked me what lotion I was wearing, and I wondered to myself it it might just be the smell of animal crackers that permeates from my being these days. Is it possible? Hippies smell like patchouli and I smell like animal crackers.
If digging food out of strange places and smelling like animal crackers makes you a mother, I think I’ve made it.
I am officially a mother.
