I'm Sorry... Wait - No I'm Not.

I realized lately that I find myself always feeling the need to explain myself - to apologize - for any and everything...

I'm sorry I look like I'm homeless (while my kids are dressed adorably from head-to-toe)...

Please excuse my home, it's such a mess...

I'm sorry I can't talk on the phone right now, my threenager is throwing a tantrum and I'm trying to get my five-month-old to nap...

Please don't judge my undecorated house.  We spent all of our time/money/energy getting pregnant, staying pregnant, and learning how to live life as a family of four...

Sorry we seemed a little chaotic when you stopped by...

Please know that I wish we could've stayed longer/come to the party/driven for a visit, but managing/entertaining/traveling with two kids three and under is a little crazy...

I apologize for being late, but my daughter refused to put on shoes and my baby had a blowout diaper as we were walking out of the door...

Please don't judge me driving an old, crappy minivan that I'm so embarrassed to drive.  We sold our nice cars to pay for fertility treatments...

Sorry my kids are screaming down the aisles of Target, but I really just need to get some toilet paper and wine (and maybe a few other things)...

Please don't judge my Target Merona shoes, or take it personally if I don't take you up on your offer to go out for breakfast/lunch/dinner/shopping... we're pinching pennies so that I can be a stay-at-home mama with my babies.

I'm sorry if I seem distracted or MIA.  I am.  I'm trying to keep two tiny humans alive and happy and growing and healthy and thriving.

Wait... Actually... I'm not sorry, because my life revolves around keeping two tiny humans alive and happy and growing and healthy and thriving.

Last week one of my girlfriends was over here for a playdate.  I looked over at E, who was happily bouncing in his doorway jumper.  And there was poop running down his legs.  All over his jumper.  All over the floor. 

Even the back pockets on his shorts were full of poop.

Y'all.

All I could do was laugh.  With the help of said girlfriend, we maneuvered him out of the jumper.  Things were wiped/treated/soaked/thrown away/washed/etc.  E had a long bath.  And then it was just about time for the playdate to end.

A couple hours later I felt the need to text my friend and apologize for the chaos, apologize for being such a mess, apologize for her getting wrapped up in our circus.

Then I thought, wait, I don't need to apologize.  What am I apologizing for?  My life?  

I know she gets it.  And this is just our reality right now.

Our reality is blowout diapers, piles of laundry, old cars, and Target clothes.  Our reality is an undecorated living room full of toys, me looking a little homeless, date nights of Papa Johns and Netflix.  Our reality is being a little late, always feeling exhausted, diaper bags and burp cloths.

But...

Our reality is a little girl who needs one more hug, whose giggle can light up a room, who has to kiss her daddy through the railings on the stairs before he leaves for work.

Our reality is "It's a boy!", big gummy grins with two teeth poking through, watching him discover this big, beautiful world.

So no... no, I'm not sorry.  Not one bit.

<3