Back in the day whenever I heard someone refer to their father as ‘my old man’ I used to cringe. I thought it was rude and tacky. While I still think those things about calling a dad an ‘old man’ I certainly feel like it sometimes. Now that LTD is rolling on the floor everywhere in his quest to crawl, I find myself spending a lot of time down there with him keeping him safe from harm and me safe from being comfortable. I don’t have to spend a lot of time on the floor to start getting a nice neck and backache. The worst part is when, like the other day, I watched LTD fold himself in half then roll out of it into a stretch in order to get a toy; meanwhile when I got up off the floor after to get him from putting said toy in the dog crate I heard many body parts make a loud popping sound.
Another indignity I suffer while on the floor is perpetrated by what is suppose to be man’s best friend. Every time I get on floor the dog senses my proximity to ground level and appears from out of no where to attack my face with her tongue. I know what you’re thinking, and yes she tries to lick the baby’s face as well but I fall on my sword and take one for the team. I can’t imagine how banged up I’m going to get once the little guy starts walking.