"Tristan just spit up. Can you hand me a towel or something?"
I go for the "or something" catagory and grab a dirty sock next to me from the floor, handing it to my husband.
"I can't use THAT!"
"Why?" (It's not like I expected him to use the dirty part of the sock)
Hubby sighs and gets to fetch a paper towel from the kitchen.
I remain sitting, remote in hand. After big brother goes to bed, I reward myself with minimal movement. It had just been one of those days.
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