It’s the combos that do me in. No not the yummy ones you find at restaurants.
The ones that go like this:
Too little sleep. Crying. Temper-tantrums.
poop. poop. poop.
Three poops for the 3 bathroom catastrophes Sammy, my two-year old,  gave me today.
“Mommas not gonna clean it up” I told him the last one. As I stand at the door of the bathroom with the baby strapped to me. “Momma’s all done cleanin up your poops.”
“ohhh” he groans with his pants around his ankles. And gives his butt a swipe with his hand.
He pulls his hand up and groans more as he sees its covered in poop. This is terrible- so he slides his hands down the sides of his face in distress. I call out that there is poop on his face now and he grabs his hair… then leans on the closet.

I hate poop. Why can’t it just stay where you want it too?

I can see this isn’t gonna get any easier and put down the baby.
I clean. And then like I said- I don’t do combos well. I cry.
Sammy stares naked at me sitting on the lid of the toilet bawling. Naturally about stinky poop and my loathe for it and “Why? oh why??”
He looks concerned. He says “sorry Momma.”
and I say,
“I forgive you”. And as I speak the words, I try.

Today I read to the kids from the Bible that God is kind and compassionate and slow to anger. I told them- “not like Momma who gets mad easy”.
I wanna be a better Momma. One who is those things.

The good news- I can say “God I’m sorry”. And he says ” I forgive you child.” and…
He doesn’t even have to try.

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