How do I put this into words? Imagine sitting next to a very active monkey. I mean no disrespect, but it literally could be described in such a way. I don't think it is humanly possible for him to actually sit through a meal, even a short meal. Over forty-three times I had to say, "Knees or bottom!" (No, I didn't actually count; If I had it probably would have been a higher number.)
Now add ketchup and sticky-sweet sauce to the mix. What in the world was I thinking?! I looked like a spastic mom as I dodged his wet, red, flying fingers. There just weren't enough wipes. How could I possibly enjoy my lunch? And no, I didn't make it out without "battle scars"; my suede coat will have to visit the dry cleaners.
I say all of this to just give mad props to my husband who continually shares the bench with our precious second born. Just don't wear a clean shirt, babe.