This is why I pray for a self-cleaning baby.
Frankly, I'm jealous that I don't give myself the freedom and opportunity to eat chocolate like that more often (if ever). God knows I wear enough of it on my hips, why not make it my elbows and knees while I'm at it.
Baby, I don't blame you, chocolate should be smeared madly across the face . . .
. . . hands, arms . . .
. . . legs and body.
Frankly, I'm jealous that I don't give myself the freedom and opportunity to eat chocolate like that more often (if ever). God knows I wear enough of it on my hips, why not make it my elbows and knees while I'm at it.
But the difference between you and me, son, is that I have the ability to clean myself. As for you, well, it is up to my ability to clean you.
And that is why this chocolate-covered pretzel debacle drives me wonky.
Not to mention that too-cute-for-words mini Buckeye chair (equipped with a cup holder!), and your brand-spankin' new blue onesie that makes you look more precious than I could have ever imagined. Yes, those things don't clean themselves either.
So one teeny, tiny chocolate-covered pretzel disaster later (thank you, mother, for indulging him), I'm busy at work cleaning baby, baby chair, baby clothes, and myself (because chocolate-covered baby equals chocolate-covered mommy).
It's days like this that I thank God for warm weather and a sturdy hose.
