when you assume you make an ass out of u and me

My vision of maternity leave was a lot cleaner than it actually is. Not only was there time for sleeping, there was time for sweeping. And scrubbing. And Martha Stewart pound cakes that didn't contribute to the dimples on my bum (or ass, depending on which you prefer me to write). And the baby! Oh, the Babe was a vision of cleanliness and contentedness, with nary a colicky episode in sight. So I definitely didn't ever envision him having crusted snot, which would require me to pick it out and then flick it on to the floor, cuz, like, where else would it go? And the screaming episode that necessitated the suckie to be put in, and then promptly spit out onto the hardwood? It would never happen. And certainly - certainly! - if the suckie had landed on the ground, for whatever reason, I would have properly sterilized the thing before putting back into the mouth of my child of just three-and-one-half months. I never would have just given it a quick suck and then plopped it back in his pie hole. Oh no! And I never, ever thought karma would bite me in the bum (or you-know-what, whatever's to your liking) by having the suckie land on the piece of recently flicked booger before I put it into my mouth for a thorough cleaning during one of the 26 screaming fits he's already had today (and it's not yet noon). Because that? THAT'S JUST GROSS. And not even sweet justice, grandmas, no matter what you think.