Why Poop Isn't All Bad

I was exhausted tonight. I could barely help Joe get the girls dressed for bed while simultaneously keeping my head up. I suspect this was the result of my insane womanly cycle, but that's for another post entirely. So, we read books and snuggled on my bed much later than the schedule usually permits. Ella pretended Blue Baby (a blue bear from Old Navy, a.k.a. her most prized possession in life) was a nice wolf and invited me to pet him on the head and back (but never, never on the paws!), and Amelia leafed through If You Give a Moose A Muffin for the billionth time, mixing some of the actual words with her own interpretations of the pictures, which always proves entertaining.

About 30 minutes after we put them down, I heard some rustling in the hallway. I found Ella out there, with a shocked look on her face. "Mama, some poop came out. It was too quick!" Quick poop? Dude... I have IBS. I know all about the stuff.

Post clean-up, twin mommy guilt with a side of my new-found perspective on parenting (i.e., how much I am going to miss these years) kicked in, and I decided to rock my baby for the first time in a long while. It was delightful. We whispered "I love you's," and I rubbed her back. She told me I was nice, and that I was the best mommy in the whole wide world. I echoed her sentiments times ten.

See? Poop isn't all bad.

Realization

After nearly three years of caring for twin girls, it finally hit me. Something just clicked tonight as I was standing at the kitchen sink, cleaning up after another long day. My days are undoubtedly filled with lots of whining, crying, mess-cleaning, and yes, seemingly endless pooping, but they are some of the best of my life. And, even though there are moments when I want to bolt for the front door, screaming like my ass is on fire, I don't want to stay gone for too long.

If I have learned anything as a mother, it's that everything is temporary. All the bad phases, all the good ones for that matter, they all pass. I have let too many days go by without chronicling them in any meaningful way. Sure, I remember the really good ones, and even some of the epically bad ones, but I want to remember them all. Because, even when I am in the thick of the biggest shitstorm my house has ever seen, I know I'm gonna miss this one day.