I turned my back for a minute and the boy's face was sucking on the ground.
After I detached him from the floor, I spied a mashed craisin that he had been trying to maneuver into his mouth. His eagle eyes, wiggly little crawl, and fierce independence have morphed him into a lean, mean hoovering machine. That smidge of sweet potato tucked into the kitchen corner? He's on it.
You must know that pre-motherhood, I was a bit...how shall I frame it?...dirty. Not Christina Aguilea diiirty. Messy. Slobby. Post-motherhood? Let's just say I have not yet bought into the 1950s war on germs, but I do vacuum most every day.
Spence is just a hoovering pack rat. He squirrels away food in his crevices and hides them for future hoovering expeditions. Today I watched him lean over his booster seat and stick a few peas under his seat for a mid-afternoon snack.
Crafty little hoover.