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Wiped out.

Honestly? Nobody told me that babies make you become: Mother, Majestic Wiper of All Things. Like, ALLLLLLL things. I have wiped things I didn't even know could be wiped. Faces and bottoms were expected. Sure. I had babysat and been a nanny and camp counselor and teacher and big sister. I wasn't totally new. I expected some of this. 

But, on any given day, I must wipe 1000 things.

Eyelashes? Magnet for yogurt. Why?

Ears? The ear wax and dry skin. Oh my god. It hurts. 

Toes? For a child who does not walk, how does the in-between of her toes get so messy?

Hair? The kid with the ginger curls collects all the things. I am wiping stuff out of there on the daily.

The tip of a finger? I mean, let's finger paint with chicken salad but heaven forbid a miniscule piece of partially chewed goldfish is on the finger.

And, yes, even though I swore I would never do it, I have licked my thumb and cleaned a cheek or tried to smooth down an errant frizz. In an emergency situation. Otherwise, I am that mom who dips her fancy napkin in the water glass and scrub a dub dubs at the table. I figure that's better for us all. Or at the least, not worse. 

Clothes, floors, tables, car handles, chairs, toys, door knobs, cabinets, counter tops, walls (oh, the walls) and, my personal favorite, ME. Admittedly, I wiped myself off with a lot more care with kid 1 and kid 2. Kid 3? As long as it doesn't look like I rolled in whatever ick just attacked me? I'm good. Priorities. And a to-do list a mile long!


Hey, why don't you give this a share? Know anybody else who is a Majestic Wiper of All Things? With that kind of job title, who isn't signing up?

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