Yes, my shirt smells like pee

I’m generally your run of the mill germ freak. I don’t like to share food or drinks… Just in case I may catch your goobers. I was a little concerned about how I’d react to my sons goobers. Babies have a lot of them. I’ve seen mothers and fathers touch such goobers on their child and I would cringe in disgust. EW! I will never be like that…
I am like that. But somehow his goobers don’t bother me. In the few short weeks he’s been here I’ve done things I never thought I’d do. Ive picked his nose, caught his geyser of pee with my hand as to not land on his face, and wiped numerous goobers off of his eyes. But what I think officially makes me a mom is that while changing him, I caught his poop in my hands. Hey don’t judge. Washing my hands is a lot easier than doing a load of laundry.
Those moments of nap time are such a gamble. What should I do!? Eat, clean, sleep, or shower!? The shower is the hardest one to decipher. Do I have time? Will he wake up? How long should I let him cry for? Do I really need to wash my hair today?
I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that my leisurely shower days are long gone. Sometimes I forget and take my time, enjoying the nice hot water. Which is quickly ended by a loud cry of, “mama where are you I’m hungry NOW!!?”. So I jump out of the shower, quickly put on the first shirt and pants I can find, and grab my son. As I sit down to feed him I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Last nights makeup streaming down my face (since we all know there was no time to wash my face), my hair in a mess of curls on top of my head, and wait is my shirt wet? I lift it up to smell it. Is it water or pee? It’s most likely pee because Braden can’t control his penis and pees everywhere and on everything. But their is no time to change because he wants to eat. So I sit down with my mascara-ed cheeks and my pee shirt… I think to myself. This is motherhood. It’s not so glamorous. But hey at least my son is cute…

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Yes, my shirt smells like pee

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