Today I was spit up on so thoroughly that I had to change my whole outfit — twice.
Today I was pooped on once.
Today I hand washed bright yellow baby poop out of: a pair of tiny cream colored knit wool shorts, a beautiful linen ring sling, and my own brand new leggings.
Today I said aloud “I absolutely MUST wash my hair today,” and then put it into braids where it will likely stay for two or three more days.
Today my toothless son bit my nipple so hard I yelled, then cried, then handed him off to Papa.
Tonight he (and we all) barely slept between the hours of one and eight am.
Tonight when he bit me again, and then pulled off roughly, I thought “maybe it’s time to be done breastfeeding.”
In the morning we were still happy to see his smiling face, awake too early. We still laughed at his happy bottle rocket screams. We still cracked each other up, recounting our bizarre antics and his frenetic arm waving as he resisted sleep all night.
Today I still love him. It is still worth it. I am still so grateful to be the one he reaches for.