I love being a parent. I love it so much that sometimes I wonder how I got to be so lucky to have been given these adorable little people to teach and love and raise.

And then there are days like today. Days when you wake up, optimistic, and get started on diaper changing and breakfast cooking and then the shit hits the fan. Someone has a tummy ache and the other is teething. L doesn’t want oatmeal for breakfast and she very loudly protests it, throwing Baby O into an almost melodic tantrum just because, you know, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em! Then no one wants to play. Or bounce. Or partake in any tummy time. And someone else is NOT HAPPY unless some wildly annoying children’s show is on TV. And then no one wants to take a nap. And when you put one down, he starts screaming, which forces the other one to become concerned and start screaming as well. And then, once they are finally calm enough for you to attempt the nap time ritual, they become monsters again. One literally JUMPS out of her crib and onto her head while the other angrily yells from the next room. And you freak out about the bump on the head of the one, while simultaneously trying to rub Orajel on the other one’s gums so that everyone will just STOP. EFFING. CRYING. And then they do. And you walk out of the room and think that you are absolutely the worst, most inept parent that ever walked the earth. And you sob for exactly 35 seconds until one of them finds you. And then you turn off the waterworks and you carry on. Inept or not. You’re still mom.

I’ve said before that sometimes I just want to stick my head in the oven. And today has been that kind of day. I want to crawl into my bed and hide from the kids until their daddy gets home. And then HE can make 33 different kinds of food for L for dinner, 32 of which she will refuse to eat and will end up spattered on the floor and wall. And HE can bathe them and lotion them and strap the monitor to HIM for the rest of the night and attempt to do ANYTHING that doesn’t directly involve a baby. I am certain he couldn’t hack this job. But some days I want to see him try, so that I can relax. And maybe, for once, he can want to stick HIS head in the oven. And I will feel completely validated.

I wrote this post yesterday. And when MB got home, he made 33 different options for L’s dinner (32 of which ended up on the floor and/or the wall. And I did not feel validated. Because today turned out exactly the same as yesterday. Except that when I lost my shit, holding Baby O and trying to fend off the teething monster that has overtaken our lives, L came to me with a concerned look on her face and said, “It’s OK” and held out her tiny index finger for me to kiss. (Because, this week, when L wants to tell you she cares about you, she sticks her finger in your face and you kiss it. It does what its told.) And, it WAS okay, you guys. Because, THAT is validation. There is so much love here. And yeah, teething sucks. And diapers are the devil. And sometimes you just want to hurl yourself off of a 80 story building, but at the end of the day, there are tiny index fingers that need smooching.

And it’s OK.