Barnacle Baby

I don't remember which friend coined the term "barnacle baby" (Holly?) but ever since I heard it, it's been my favorite way to describe when the baby is in a phase of DON'T-PUT-ME-DOWN-BECAUSE-I-AM-ALLERGIC-TO-THE-FLOOR/CHAIR/BED!

Today, the baby is stuck to me. Like a barnacle.

So, I'm going to blog. Because I can generally blog while I fend off tiny hands and redirect them into attacking a snack. But loading the dishwasher when the kid is trying to dive bomb into said dishwasher from my arms, (and then crying when I put him down), is near impossible.

And really, the kid LOVES the dishwasher.  Here's photographic evidence taken with  my phone yesterday:

I'm fairly sure the blurry factor is due to a drool film over the lens of my phone. Z manages to get his hands, (and drooly little mouth), all over my phone more often than should be possible. I'm convinced that the big kids think it's funny to hand the phone to him. Either that or he developed go-go-gadget arms. You never know.

When he's not doing dishes, the baby is doing any number of things, most of which involve him getting messy. He loves getting messy.  See?

The kid likes blackberries. Blackberries are not exactly the least messy fruit on earth. But who can deny that face?

Perhaps he's why my kitchen looks like the Keebler elves had a frat party and forgot to clean up.

And the living room...

And... the basement?

Ah, no... can't blame that kid directly... but seriously, when the question is whether to put away the laundry or snuggle that smiley little barnacle baby, I think the right choice is fairly obvious.

(And yes Shaun, I promise I'm really putting the laundry away... eventually)