Safety is not the only concern with a baby on the move. . .

Many of the things I assumed before becoming a mother are out the window: Once they sleep through the night it just stays that way, being tired makes sleep easier, and my house is clean. This last assumption was shattered the other night as I placed Zoe on the carpet I just vacuumed and watched her roll onto the linoleum/wood (linolawood) floor in our entry way that I just swept. I thought I had done a pretty thorough job until I noticed Zoe under the desk in the entry way with a giant Sadie dust bunny on her leg. Zoe just looked at me and grinned. Yeah, I get it kid; that area "maybe" doesn't get the attention it deserves. Hard to tell when you yourself are not routinely laying under the desk in the entryway. Her unique vantage point also allows her to see under the sofa where she finds all kinds of goodies. Great. Ok, leaves and twigs belong outside not in your livingroom; check. Dog food belongs in the dog food bowl, not strewn about the house like a buffet at a dog cocktail party; gotcha. The only analogy I have for the situation is when you were in elementary school and on "dentist day" you had to chew on those weird red tablets. You're eight years old and you know what's coming. You brush your teeth like no one has ever brushed before. You get the back ones, you get the front ones (mostly the front ones because any indiscretion there would be most obvious). You're determined that the magic red chewables, designed solely to illuminate your bad oral hygiene habits, will not get the better of you this time. You eat one, look in the mirror, and see the reflection of someone who looks as if they just got punched in the mouth and is now bleeding profusely. Foiled again. Zoe is now our red chewable tooth pill. I'm not sure what the solution is because it seems that just when you are supposed to have the cleaning skills of Martha Stewart, you have the least amount of time. So I simply look around the house that seven and a half months ago I would've thought clean and sigh. Then I remember the poetic words I once heard uttered by a very wise man (my husband): God made dirt. . . .dirt don't hurt.