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10 October 2016

The Mess of Motherhood

Three loads in with two more to go
Laundry so high that it piles like snow
Dishes left crusty from morning's oatmeal
The toddler has mastered the art of the squeal

Husband informed her he has nothing to wear
Which may or may not have poked her inner bear
The baby wants Momma, toddler wants a snack
And Momma just wants to lie down on her back

She dreams of a life with no sticky hands
She's sipping iced coffee, her toes in the sand
No one is tugging and pulling her shirt
Her floors are not mysteriously covered in dirt

She wakes up well-rested and sleeps through the night
Her house looks so perfect, not a toy in sight
And as she imagined her own perfect bliss
She thought of some things she might actually miss

The smell of the baby when she kisses his face
Watching her husband and little one race
How her baby will laugh and nothing else matters
How conversations with toddlers can cause so much laughter

How she felt when they placed each babe right on her chest
And how she was much too excited to rest
From the moment she knew they were each on their way
Her love became fiercer with every passing day

For these sticky hands that create such disaster
And the culprit of spit up always stained on her shirt
They make her go crazy and keep her dirt poor
But they are the blessings she's waited her whole life for

Her babies, her children, her sweet legacies
She'll look back when she's old and long for moments like these
At the end of her life, she will call it 'so good'

For God blessed her indeed with the mess of motherhood

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