It is early morning and the Childsplayx2 household is getting ready for another day at work/daycare. The wife has left already and I am spending a few minutes playing on the floor with both TheMonk and Swee’Pea before we head out to daycare. I am already dressed for work in a pair of slacks and a black shirt.
TheMonk crawls over to me and climbs up on my leg. I start to give him a “horsey ride” by bouncing him up and down on my knee. He shrieks with glee and laughs out loud as he bounces up and down. Perhaps rapid bouncing so soon after eating breakfast isn’t a good idea. This becomes evident as TheMonk releases a globule of spitup in mid bounce off my knee. I see it, in slow motion, fly into the air. I follow it with my eyes as it descends rapidly through the atmosphere, finally landing. On my pants. The crotch of my pants.
I set TheMonk aside, making sure he’s okay. He seems oblivious to the fact that he has added his own touch to my sartorial splendor and crawls off in search of something to entertain himself with as I wipe up my pants.
Meanwhile, Swee’Pea is standing over at the musical table. It dawns on me that she has been standing there for some time. This is problematic because while Swee’Pea has learned to pull herself up into a standing position, she has yet to really figure out how to get down. As a result, she’ll stand at that table for a long time unless she’s helped down to the ground. I call over to her as she starts to whimper while looking at the ground. “Plop on your butt, Swee’ Pea.” I tell her. She decides to go for it but upon letting go of the table, falls forward rather than backward and hits her face on the table as she crumples to the ground.
She begins to cry. Loudly. Very loudly.
I go to comfort her and pull her into my body as we sit on the floor. She continues to cry and her nose starts to run profusely. I find a tissue and try to wipe her nose. There is very little Swee’Pea hates more than someone trying to wipe her nose. She begins to cry even harder. In an effort to avoid the tissue she buries her face into my shirt. When she pulls away, I glance down to see a line of mucus smeared across the front of my black shirt. After calming Swee’Pea down, I go and find a damp cloth to clean up my shirt.
Finally, I’m ready to leave. I gather up the twins and our assorted gear and soon we are headed for daycare. I say my goodbyes with a hug and I squeeze their little bodies tightly and feel their heads resting on my shoulder. Soon, I am on my way to work.
Later that day a co-worker glances at my shoulder. “I think you have baby spit on your shoulder,” she says.
As I glance down at the barely visible mucus streak on my shirt and the faint mark where spitup once sat on my pants, I smile. “Yeah, I guess it comes with the territory.” I say.
I glance at the spot on my shoulder. I smile once again, remembering the hugs that must have contributed to this spot.
This time, I don’t clean up the spot.
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