The G(L)ORY of Motherhood...

I had just fed Henry and had placed him on the floor-blanket I had just pulled from the dryer to change his diaper when I discovered it.


The up-the-back soiling the shirt and - yes - the freshly laundered blanket type of blow-out. And yes, I discovered it the fun way.

5 diapers (truly) and some serious hand-washing later, I had Henry perched in my lap, leaning over one arm as I attempted to spread a fresh blanket and burp-cloth out for him to lie on while I ran for some fresh clothes for him.

Which was when he decided that the other thing had been so fun, he should probably lose his lunch from the top end, also.

Basically, by the time I had Henry down to a CLEAN diaper and resting on a CLEAN blanket, I myself was covered in...well, let's not go into that.

He created an entire load of laundry just from that one ten-minute stretch of his day.

And oh, did he look pleased with himself!

After his resulting bath, I held that little man in close, smelling his hair and his naked skin wrapped so snuggly in his blanket. I put him in some clean, white jammies - and I was completely undone. I nibbled on cheeks, stroked soft hair-sprouts, kissed tiny nose - I was completely in love.

Which was when I realized - that impressive mess that he had created for me twenty minutes before? It hadn't phased me at all.

I mean - I am sitting here, now, completely exhausted from all the messes of the day (Henry wasn't the only one today with adventurous 'potty' moments). I told Bill when he walked in, tonight, that "I am so done." But being pooped and puked on?


That is my mantle, and I wear it with pride. This - I realized - is a pretty significant signal that I am truly a Mother. I - who curtle at the site of someone spitting in the parking lot - don't flinch in the least when it is my child who poops/wets/vomits/wipes his/her nose on me.

My mother told me this would happen - I think I didn't really believe her.

But I look at myself in the mirror - with my frizzy hair that I didn't have time to do anything with but wash today, with my ill-fitting shirt with the spit-up stain, with those circles under my eyes - and I see that these are but the jewels adorning my Crown of Motherhood. My battles scars that label me as - in spite of it all - glorious.

I believe that cleanliness is next to godliness. But I also now believe that sacrificing that cleanliness can also be next to godliness. Because sometimes? Holding your crying daughter close, knowing full well that your blouse is being saturated by her runny nose and stained by her graham cracker drool, is actually cleansing for the soul.

A soul bubble-bath, those peanut-butter jelly fingers on your trousers.