It’s amazing how Z always wants my help when cleaning up her messes but never while creating them.
Before tonight, I’d always feel sorry for her and help her clean up but I finally put my foot down. Told her I couldn’t help her clean up because she hadn’t needed my help when making the mess.
Thought it’d prove too much for her and I’d have to eventually pitch in because my room resembled a war zone. But apparently not. Boy, have I been misjudging her clean up skills all these months!
My room is now clean… by a 3 year old’s standards at least.
20 newspaper sheets – which she’d spread all over the floor, have been folded.
Her toys have been collected in her favourite gift bags and are neatly lined up against the wall.
Her cars have been parked (albeit in the middle of the room).
Her stuff toys are back in the cot.
And her “makeup” has gone back in its case.
I can walk in my room without stubbing my toe, breaking something, or strangling a stuff toy.
Hoorah for small victories in the parenthood war.