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.
I completely agree! Those late night snuggles (no matter the reason) help me remember to keep positive.
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