It repulses me even to write it. But that is what I am.
Husband is out for a work thing. Baby is (surprisingly) asleep and staying that way. I decide to do the unthinkable and clean. And what am I rewarded with? A $#@$! mouse turd.
You start to play games with yourself. Perhaps it's a bit of burnt rice. A tiny bit of dirt. But deep down, you know. You just do.
Can I just tell you how much I miss my cat right now?
So I do what any logical person would do. I spend an hour crawling on the ground looking for any minute tiny crack between the baseboards and the floor and stuffing it with tinfoil (yes I know all about steel wool but we don't have any right now and anyhow, those metal shards would probably wind up in our daughter's tummy). In case you're wondering, in brownstone building, there are plenty of those cracks. And now any slight creak I hear I'm convinced is the creepy mouse (and probably his whole mouse posse) coming to get me.
I'm going to sit here and think un-mouse-like thoughts.