“I haven’t gotten a thing done!” I sighed to myself as my 5-week old baby began to cry again.
I scooped him out of his chair and walked past my unmade bed, lightly bouncing him and patting his bottom as I went.
We walked through the laundry room where four separated loads of clothes awaited my next spare minute.
We skirted around the kitchen island where dirty dishes and leftover ingredients from that morning’s monkey bread remained scattered on the countertops.
We passed the empty sunroom where the puppy sleeps, bits of grass all over the floor and a very puppy-like smell permeating the air.
We went by the schoolroom where crayons littered the table and puzzle pieces dominated the ground.
We padded through the quiet living room where slipcovers needed straightening and stacks of movie cases needed to be reunited with their discs.
We mozied onto the front porch that needed to be swept and took a seat in the rocking chair that needed to be wiped down.
I looked down at the baby who had interrupted my work…
he was asleep. His brow was clear and at rest, his eyes were shut tight, his tears were wiped away, his countenance was sweet and peaceful, his body was snug and warm in my embrace…
Well, looky thar. I got somethin’ done.