When you first have a baby you want everything to be perfect. Your standards are so high you put Martha Stewart to shame as you become borderline obsessive compulsive about every detail. You make sure there are no stains on their clothes, that every time they drop their spoon you wash it off, that they are never out of your sight even for a second so you end up blinking one eye at a time. A tear can hardly make it from their eye to their chin before you are making balloon animals while standing on your head.

But… after some time it is easy to give up on perfect.

If The Munch throws her food on the floor, I just leave it there for a while because there is a pretty good chance she will eat later. If I am doing something important like looking at twitter and she leaves the room to potentially eat dog food, I figure that it has iron in it. If she is whining and pulling on my legs while I am trying to dance around, I just dance with my arms and wait for her to think of something else to do.

The only thing I am still as anal about as ever is changing her diaper the second I know it is dirty, because otherwise she gets diaper rash… which is just a nice way of saying an irritation of the pussy and asshole.

“Hey Mom… is it cool if I just stand in this puddle wearing a monochromatic outfit?”
“Yeah sure… knock yourself out.”