Gross Things I Do

I drink from Alex’s sippy cup. At the beginning it was the only way I could get him to drink from it. He wanted it because I had it. Now, I think it’s communal.

I also pick his nose. Which is gross. But it grosses me out more to see that boogie just sitting there. Staring at me.

Sometimes, I wear my jeans until they can walk themselves.

I leave pans to soak over night in the sink. Others may do this but it grosses me out.

On Sunday, I found some food Alex had hidden under the couch. I hope it was from Sunday.

Sometimes, especially on weekends, I find my shirt has food stains on it. I blame the baby but at this point, I’m not sure anymore.

I am not sure the last time my bathroom floor got cleaned. That’s my husband’s job? Is that an excuse I can use?

These statements are not just a lot of malarky.

My point is, shortly I will have a house. A nice house.

And I am afraid. Because I want it to stay nice. I tell myself our house is cluttered because it’s small and we have a baby and only one bedroom and no cabinet space left to speak of.

But what if it’s just….me? What if the sippy cup drinking is an indication of a deep set laziness that cannot be undone?

Or worse: what if I undo the laziness and my family doesn’t like the uptight wench I become? Have you all seen that crazy mom in American Beauty? What if I somehow become her? I don’t WANT to sleep with Peter Gallagher people!

It will all work out. It will all work out. Somehow.

Good thing I’m not freaking out about it.