The other day, I finally decide the house needs to be picked up a little. Not too much, but it definitely called for the the kitchen to be cleaned and for the carpet to be vacuumed.
Right when I get going, Quinton starts fussing, and doesn't stop with the usual techniques. ugh. What to do. I start to think, maybe he's teething, maybe he doesn't feel good. He's generally so sweet and laid back. So, what the heck, I can hold him and vacuum at the same time, he only weighs 15 lbs.
So I clean the kitchen, with the babe on my hip. I vacuum the house, dragging both Quin and the vacuum to the ends of our little abode. My arm falls asleep half way through and I get this awful pain in my left side but Quinton was content, he rested his chin on my shoulder and seemed ever so appreciative of the extra love.
A little while later, Randy gets home and I know he's hungry. I start to fix him dinner and realize that he can hold Quinton while I fix him something to eat. So I say, "oh, can you hold him for a minute, he's not feeling well or something" to which Randy replies, "yeah, but can you follow me downstairs with him, I need to put my deck of cards down".
I think the story speaks for itself.
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