Every morning Bug and I fight a war of wit and will. She enjoys her breakfast, and when she's finished she calls "Mama, befas done. S'cu'me!" (It's very endearing.) She then waits patiently while I fetch a cloth to clean up her attempt at recreating the Battle of the Somme in her weetbix.
And that's when the fun starts.
Bug has two hands and one face (she's pleasingly anatomically normative.) They all need wiping. But I never know where to begin.
Wipe the face first? But then my next move is wiping a hand. She counters by whacking her other messy hand to her face and smearing away all my good work.
Wipe a hand first? But then, while I wipe the other, she shove the clean hand into her bib. Since we use a bib with a muck catcher at the bottom (or, as she sees it, an attached feed trough and food reuse system) the hand comes out arguably worse than when we began. And she's far to wiggly and strong to pin both hands at once.
Remove the bib? No dice. Suspecting such a devilish plot, she has cached a huge wad of half chewed weetbix in her cheek, and she is willing to spit it onto her unprotected stomach at the slightest provocation. Aha! Check mate, woefully inept Mother!
For a while, I pretended to accept her views on post-meal cleanliness and instead tried guerrilla warfare - letting her stick her hands into what ever muck she could find, but just keeping on wiping whatever extremity flailed in my direction. I figured that she would eventually run out of muck, and I would eventually wipe down to clean skin. But it was as about as fun and efficient as walking to London. From Sydney.
I have to step it up. I can't support this inefficiency. In my past life, I was a highly competent student of tactics, but now I am being bested by a toddler. Help me, von Clausewitz!
(Just a thought, water cannon? No? Too far? Just checking...)