Confession Time

Last night, Lucy spent her second night in as long as I can remember, on freshly laundered sheets. I am ashamed to admit that I cannot remember the last time I changed her bedding. I have lots of excuses as to why this isn't quite as unforgiveable as it might otherwise seem. The first, of course, is that in the event of any major biological crises (puking, diaper failures, incessant drooling), I would certainly have made clean sheets a priority. I would never have just switched her head to the other side of the bed and called it a night, for instance. The second is that I am always diligent about bathing my babies before bed (I mean while they are still babies). I can count on one hand the number of times that Lucy has not been bathed before going to sleep. So, I ask you, how dirty can the sheets of a tiny queen get, in the absence of major biological events, when the bed's only occupant is completely clean herself before being placed in it?

My other excuse is that I have never worked changing crib sheets into my chore routine very effectively. Namely because I've never had a child spend very many nights in a crib before now. I've admitted before that I was a co-sleeping parent for many ducklings before this one. So much so that Lucy's preference for sleeping alone seems completely foreign to me. Case in point, as I type this, my Claire refuses to stay in her own bed and instead insists that I hold her head on my lap and loop my arms around to reach the keyboard. Lucy, on the other hand, is snoring peacefully alone in her crib on clean sheets. I keep thinking about that new movie Babies and how on the trailer that one baby is plonked in a tub in a doorway whereby she finds herself nuzzled by a persistent goat. I mean, really, in other parts of the world would sporadic sheet cleaning be considered a problem? I swear I am completely diligent about keeping farm animals away from my children's bathing and sleeping places. You see? By world standards, I am practically a clean freak.