That moment after picking up your toddler son and sitting him in your lap while you finish up just one more paragraph, only to discover the reason he came to you in the first place was because he needed his bum wiped.

Then the moment after changing your own pants, wiping up your son, and washing that poop smear from your forearm, that your daughter points out the little tiny glob on the bathroom floor that you just stepped in.

This just got real.

Mother/Writer hybrids out there, don’t pretend this type of thing hasn’t happened to you.


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