Before I had a baby I always thought of Sisyphus whenever I did laundry. As soon as I managed to finished it all and had it put away there were many more loads to be washed. Sigh.
One tiny baby not only increases the laundry exponentially but the same tiny baby brings a Sisyphusian (Sisyphian?) element to activities never before thought imaginable.
Every morning, every afternoon and at least 10 times in the evening The Stinker and I have the same battle of wills. Yesterday I won round twenty. Today I lost round one.
Submitted for your approval: (please note the Cheerio on the right shoulder, he’s saving it for later.)
“But Mommy, you told me to wash my hands!”
Like Puppy, like baby.
In case you’re wondering, yes, he does kiss his mother with that mouth.
He is obsessed with the dog and the cats, a.k.a. “Dawg!” and “Mo!” (All cats are Mo. Ya got one cat named Mo then all cats in the universe are clearly named Mo. That’s logic y’all! It’s adorable, but has proven embarrassing a time or two, say when you’re at the mall and there’s a guy and say he’s wearing a shirt with like a tiger on it and Max joyously cries out “Mo! A Mo!”) I am fighting the good fight, but like Sisyphus, that rock just rolls down the hill every ten minutes or so.
It’s a dang good thing my little rock is just the sweetest thing around.