“Why can’t we just have nice things?!” – insert crying emoji face here –
“I wouldn’t recommend buying the huge, just off white, wool, cable knit looking rug with a dog (who lets face it enjoys acting like a puppy a bit too much) and a new baby” The sales person explained to a heavily pregnant, hormonal, not even going to entertain this advice version of me.
“It’ll be fine” I said, “We’ll buy some good carpet cleaner” I said.
…You don’t know how many times I have cursed this moment.
This poor rug has seen ALL matter of baby and animal based juices over the last 6 months, it’s beyond me that we haven’t burned it on the balcony as a sacrifice to the interior design Gods. I won’t divulge too much information but there was that time that Bubba rolled off her play mat onto the SLIVER (I’m talking 10 cm of uncovered ruggy goodness) and saw it as a opportune time to have a poo explosion – insert another crying face here. Or the time Bear, our dog, ate a worm and decided to Jackson Pollock underneath our coffee table with bright orange vomit. Too much information?
The rest of our apartment is covered in ‘come and shit on me, I can handle it’ floorboards, but Bear and the Baby seem to enjoy destroying this rug the most.
So on the weekend, after yet another incident involving a worm (this rug has become a proverbial toilet roll for the dog) we flipped it – the rug not the dog. While we were reorganising my husband turned to me with the saddest look on his face and said “Why can’t we have nice things?” It was like burying a friend. I told him we could… just in 18 years.
Between the dog and Bubba’s new found affection for painting, me, herself, her highchair and subsequently the floor around it with food, I don’t know how long this other side will survive. Maybe I’ll just stick her high chair on it and she can use it as a blank canvas.
Love Mum, who is on the verge of becoming that person who only puts out the nice things when people come over.
xx
Just Mummying 