Chaos and Messy Kisses

My living room is trashed; my kitchen counter is covered with dishes (mostly bowls and spoons). Toys that were meant to stay in the play room have somehow managed to invade my bedroom. To say a hurricane flew through would not be an understatement. The hurricane has two legs and arms, a bottomless stomach and curly, wild hair.

That hurricane also happens to have gone through three outfit changes. Why three? Because for her birthday, her aunt and I came together to give her leotards for her birthday because she loves to dance. Did I ever stop to think that maybe each one would be worn for a total of MAYBE four songs before being taken off? Nope. I also never thought that she would refuse to put on the ones before because they were "dirty." I probably should have known better; she is notorious for multiple outfit changes a day already, but god help me, she loves to dance and I thought she would just look way too cute.

Which she totally does.

As the hurricane prances around the house in leotard number three, her brother—my precious seven month old chunkers—is screaming. Is it his fourth tooth, which has gone past an irritation to a real pain? Is he just super gassy? It can't be a messy diaper. I changed him three minutes ago and he has already pooped twice today.

I manage to get the hurricane to settle down with her collection of Barbies and Barbie accessories in the living room (never mind that is isn't her own room) to grab a screaming baby, who has gone from his annoyed cry to the outraged one, out of the playpen.

It is, to my dismay, another messy diaper.

As I pull out the Mom Tools, he smiles at me. A big, goofy grin that gives me a view of his three teeth as well as the erupting fourth.

I can hear my daughter, who is holding a singing competition with her Barbies in a loud voice with lyrics about the color pink.

Did I really think I could handle two children, or even one for that matter? It is always a mess and I have always been an orderly person—books stacked by size, clothes sorted by color. Even my dishes are washed in a particular order.

I know when my family falls asleep, I will put everything in place and it will all just happen again the next day. A minor irritation that, in the end, is worth every dirty dish and random toy.

I may think I can't handle it at times, but my kids have faith in me. They prove it with every random cuddle throughout the day and every giggle. My daughter likes to run up to me, just to tell me she loves me. My son cries for me whenever he is upset, because I am the one who is there when Daddy is gone; I am the one who gathers him up to soothe him at one in the morning because he has gas.

At the end of my life, I will know that all of this was worth it. For every mess there has been messy hands holding mine and sticky kisses after each particularly sweet treat. There has been bubble filled baths in which my children have been given ridiculous Santa beards and mohawks. Overall, there has been so much more love in my heart than I ever thought capable.