Today was a tiny victory for the tiny people in our home (namely, Zoe).
What was this small celebratory situation, you ask?
I allowed her to be messy. That’s right; the baby was permitted to be a baby. Hallelujah.
It’s lunch time at the Simon household and lunch time is an unclean affair every since Zoe breached the six month marker. Solids are in the air… and on the floor, all over our clothes, Zoe’s face, hands and little legs.
She didn’t like the high chair for the same reason I especially liked it; the straps on her harnesses were too wide for her tiny hands attached to her tiny arms attached to her tiny trunk. They restricted her. Couldn’t reach the bowl, couldn’t reach the spoon. I liked this setup. It was clean. I like clean.
…But I like Zoe more.
It’s lunch time at the Simon household and, liberated from her restrictive cage, a triumphant Zoe makes a triumphant and daring lunge for the bowl– and she scores! Bowl in hand, spoon in other hand, triumphantly, she beats her prizes in a rhythmic cry of victory against the hardwood floor.
Oh you heard right. We’re eating on the floor.
Ingenious as the invention of the “bib” may have been, it is no match for Zoe’s prowess with the utensil. A triumphant arc of applesauce lands across Zoe’s beautiful baby blue onesie with the pink flowers, across her equally beautiful face and eyelashes.
End result? More laundry, more frequent bath time and happier baby. Oh, I can so live with that.
Mommy laughs. Zoe laughs. Peace out, folks. Our work here is done.