We have officially entered the Mushed Banana Stage.
Question: How is it that, even after a thorough wipe-down of both child and chair, sticky mushy banana ends up on every conceivable (and inconceivable) surface in the house?
The only possible answer: Mushed banana is magical. Banana, in its solid non-mushed state, is entirely unremarkable. But once mushed, particularly by the hands or in the mouth of a human being under the age of 30 months, it mutates into a supernatural, disappearing-reappearing substance, not unlike something that would be sold in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes designed to drive mums nutty.
Think about it: You are 100% positive that you have wiped up all the mushed banana from the high chair, but, two hours later, there it is, crusted into the crevices, sticky on the seat belt, and glued to your baby's butt. You meticulously cleaned the mushed banana from in between those chubby baby fingers, confident that it all ended up in the trash on a wet paper towel, but it soon reappears on the Exersaucer, the couch cushions, the crib rails, the television remote control, your flip-flops, Percy, and a book about trucks. Mushed banana must be magical! How else can you explain the mushed banana in every body's hair, ground into the closet carpet, smeared on the sliding glass door, stuck to the back of the dining room chairs, smushed into Mr. Potatoe Head's eye orifice, crusted into the buttons on your cell phone, stained on your favorite white T-shirt, and gluing "no man can serve two masters" to "seek ye first the kingdom of God" in your Bible?
Yeah, yeah, J.K. Rowling says she came up with her ideas on a train to London. But I believe that she woke up one morning, stepped into slimy mushed banana that she had carefully cleaned off her daughter the day before, and asked herself, "How did that get there?"
