Next, I went to my bedroom to gather laundry. At which point, I discovered that Royal, who was laying comfortably on our bed, had apparently just puked over the foot of it. I suppose I'm thankful that he made it onto the floor instead of getting it on the bed...though his taking care of the bed shouldn't surprise me. He seems to think of it as his, anyway. I'm not sure how we've allowed that to happen....
So, the next part of my morning involved bravely scooping up dog vomit. (With undoubtedly more paper towels than the job called for and three plastic grocery bags wrapped around my hand for protection...also a bit excessive. I get it.) A good dog would've taken care of it himself, if you know what I mean. But, nope. Royal left it for me to deal with. It was disgusting, and seriously, I questioned my own ability to not follow suit...if you know what I mean. But, I conquered. Used practically an entire bottle of pet-odor eliminator stuff...but I conquered.
Naturally, I thought I'd take advantage of feeling like a rockstar after having cleaned that mess. (It doesn't take much for me to feel like I've achieved rockstar status, I've decided.... I'm probably very confused about what it means to be an actual rockstar.) I then turned my attention to the dirty cloth diaper in the bathroom waiting to be sprayed. I cleaned it, and it didn't even bother me. What a great perspective-changer cleaning up vomit can be! Who knew?!
To recap, my morning, within a brief span of 20 minutes, involved going to battle against an ant invasion, cleaning dog puke, and spraying a dirty diaper. A banner morning already, am I right?
I went to the living room to send a text to Bobby to share my morning's happenings...
...only to discover that Emerson had, for the first time ever, discovered & explored the contents of her own dirty diaper, with her bare hands. I must've come into the room at precisely the right time, because neither the couch (I know, right?) nor the pillows nor her body had yet been touched.
The situation had turned comical.
I picked up a rather stunned & quiet Emerson, who seemed to know she'd done something 'icky' as a result of her curiosity. (Bless her heart. This is how we learn.) She was easily placed directly into the bathtub, where I proceeded to rinse her off and then gave her an impromptu bath.
She did seem to enjoy her random morning bath once we got her clean, and I did get to give the bathroom a solid top-to-bottom cleaning as she bathed. Scrubbing the bathtub had made its way to the top of the days priority list (obviously), so it only made sense to clean the rest of the bathroom, too. (Silver linings!)
I'd love to insert a photo here, but really, at what point in this story did you think
"I just really wish there were a picture to go with this"?
I rest my case.
This is hardly the sentimental, "ode to motherhood" post that I had intended for this week. And, if I find a chance in the next few days, I may still make that happen. But, sometimes material just presents itself, and I had to run with it...disgusting though I know this is. (I suppose I run the risk of never entertaining guests at our home again by sharing such gross happenings as these....) If ever there were a week to share a story about a morning in the trenches as a mom, this seems like it would be it.
Sometimes motherhood is messy. (To be fair, it's never actually been quite this messy in my nearly two years as a mom. And, to be fair again, only one of this morning's predicaments was Emerson's responsibility. So, I guess sometimes life is just messy....) But, in the midst of the mess today, I happily recognized that I was able to laugh about it all. (Tears were the other option, and would've been completely reasonable, I'd say.) But, I laughed! And, that's a big deal. That wouldn't have always been my response to a morning like this one, and I'm proud that this is another indication of my growth as a mom. Emerson reminds me daily of the beauty and the benefit of laughter. She helps me always find joy. That's one the gifts of being her mom.
And, as I was scrubbing Emerson in the tub, I realized once again that I can say with complete confidence that I was made to be a mommy. Emerson's mommy.
I love her unconditionally. (And I still love that Royal quite a bit, too.)
I would do anything for her.
I wouldn't trade this life of mine.
I'm right where I'm supposed to be. Sometimes, in the mess. Always, with her.