So Much for the Splat Mat

When "preggomyeggo" was a blog title that actually made sense, I had written about the skills I did not have in being a tidy eater. I manage to get food all up in places like my hair, my pants, and behind my ears. And when pregnant, more of my food ended up on my belly than in it. Michael had playfully suggested that we register for a splat mat- a colorful dropcloth of sorts that you place underneath your child's chair to catch the crumbs- and that the splat mat would be for me.

My Dad read the aforementioned blog entry, and a splat mat arrived in the mail a week later. Ha, ha, I thought, and tucked it away for...well, today. Our wood floors and lack of a dog are tremendously unforgiving to the aftermath of a meal with Oliver. It finally occurred to us to use the dropcloth. I tucked it underneath the chair in a position that I thought would be effective in catching the remnants of tuna salad, mandarin oranges, and an un-naturally orange, mysteriously vague serving of "mixed vegetables." Then went Oliver into the high chair.

And this is what happened:

Is it my imagination or is Oliver laughing at me? At the whole idea? Like, "you think you can contain me? Think again, sucka!"

The splat mat did nothing. In fact, every morsel that was dropped, flicked, and flung landed just outside of its borders.



Maybe it's time to get a dog.