Yesterday, baby D accidentally peed on the floor while playing. It isn’t unusual but instead of giving him the looks or the talks, I expressed a subtle sigh of disappointment and walked towards the balcony to fetch an old cloth meant for cleaning the toddler-made mess.
When I turned again, he was standing behind with a tricky smile on his lips.
“Goooo boy!”, he shouted, patting his chest and looked at my eyes for further remarks.
Two dripping hands, a soiled underwear, dangerously wet floor and a smelly bed cover caught my attention and they were in dire need of thorough cleaning.
Apparently, at the time of my absence (which I’m sure was only a few seconds), baby D has removed his underwear, wiped the liquid gold off and when his little hands got wet, he has taken one of the bed sheets, quick-dried the puddle and finally had come back to me beaming with pride.
As always, my first inclination was to scold and correct him. But his cajoling looks seemed so innocent that I let him win the game. Shouldn’t I? After all, he is that goooo boy who genuinely made an effort to set things right.
“You cleaned the mess. Sweet of you, kid!”, I planted kissies on his forehead and saved the practical advice for, maybe, some other day.