Sometimes I really have to convince myself that it's worth it to get ready for the day. Because odds are extremely high--near 100%, actually--that at some point in the day, I'm going to get puked on or pooped on or that my milk supply is going to feel the need to audition for next generation of Old Faithful at Yellowstone. Perhaps we should call it Young Faithful. Or Milk Meltdown. Or *#@$*%. (JUST kidding... No real swear words were voiced or thought in the making of this post.)
But then I take a deep breath. And it's okay that I just got pooped on or that I'm sticky with milk. These things wash out of clothes and wash off of bodies. And I'm grateful that I showered and got cute for the day, because I feel better when I do. And Blake gives me the up-down when he walks in from work. And then I smile.
And all is good. And all is well. And life really is lovely.
Even when seen through a film of spit up.
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