Now, I love my nugget. You know, I know it, Mr. Me and everyone around me knows it. I truly love my daughter with every fiber in my body (yes, even at 1130pm when she's still keyed up and running circles around my bedroom).
What I don't love is the mess.
My Mom can attest for me, I'm not the cleanest person. I don't pick up all the time. I tend to leave dishes in the sink for a day or two and I don't mop the floors as much as I should. But when it comes to my bedroom, I have to have it clean. Not clean as in dust-free, spic and span clean. But moderately clean.
With Roo, there's no such thing.
My sweet little daughter loves nothing more than to dump all of her clothes out on the floor, all of the toys and my newest favorite (taught to her by none other than her Daddy) dumping the basket of toys upside down.
Sure, it's cute.
Maybe even adorable,
But when she follows me after I clean, only to repeat all these horrible offenses all over again, a little circuit in my brain wants to fizz it.
I swear, I clean up after her three, four times a day.
If I'm not picking up crayons, it's Hot Wheelz, or DVDs (which she delights in throwing all over the floor).
I've told myself repeatedly, even while I'm straightening the bedsheets (as she sits on them) that I don't need to be so neurotic about this. I've told myself that she's just a child and I'm being a tad bit nutty about this whole thing.
I've even gone as far to tell myself that I can deal with the mess.
Then, as I'm rushing around picking up washcloths, magazines and pillows, I catch a glimpse of her doodling on a piece of paper or watching me with a smile, and I melt.
I simply melt to a gooey puddle on the floor.
Then I realize why clean when I can spend the time cuddling.
(Glasses courtesy of Mr. Potato Head. Thanks PH!)