Carnage

I remember when Lyla was too big for her detachable car seat and too small for a restaurant highchair. Those were not good months for eating out, but we did it anyway occasionally, to the chagrin of one and all.

It's better now that Lyla can dangle her legs out the holes of the wooden highchair and flap them (yes, flap them) when she wants another spoonful of slop.

And it's better now that we can litter her end of the table with puffs, Cheerios, and bits of our bread. I remember months ago looking forward to such a day and picturing how I'd scour the table with various disinfectants before letting Lyla's food and hands touch it.

The reality is that we're comfortable with clean enough; we figure the table busser probably changes out his rag once in awhile. Right? Either that or these are germs that will prompt Lyla's immune system to work overtime, which will eventually lead to invincibility.

Tonight Lyla ate food from the second we sat down until the second we left. She scarfed a thing of sweet potatoes, half a thing of a lovely orchard fruit medley, and about 7,000 puffs. When we left, we winced at the piles of dribbled food beneath Lyla's highchair, which certainly necessitated the plug-in vacuum rather than the vacuum-sweeper hybrid. It was carnage.

But that's nothing compared to what we'll find in her diaper tomorrow morning.