I heart poop.

Sometimes, well often, i feel that it would be strange and out of plAce to rant and rave about how much i enjoy my children. I assume that it is expected of me to complain about them. I sense that we use our complaints to converse, to connect….but the truth is that I get SO much joy from them. I feel sad thinking that stress and lack of joy could be ones dominant state with their children. Maybe it is insane but, I love being up at night with them. The puffy, tired eyes have nothing on being together in the still of night when everyone else is asleep. There is something magic about it. When they get sick i feel this instant desire to nurture, make broth and just be with them. Their bodies warm and limp feel so vulnerable. I relish it all.
I ring out poop with my bare hands and I am astounded by how much i can love them.
I have watched them throw fits and in my heart all i want is to love them. I don't want to change them or what they are doing, not even the tantrum.The poop, the puke, the tantrums, the sleepless nights…. Its not just survivable… It is divine. I expect nothing else but this. But what is. . .


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