That moment… you know the one… that moment when you can laugh, or you can cry.

That moment when you get home from work, and your adorable son is just waking up from his nap. You, still in your nice clothes, rush in to scoop him up for some snuggles. That moment when he’s giggling, glad to see his mama, nuzzling your neck a little bit. That moment that for some reason, you decide that instead of the normal post-nap diaper change, you just want to carry his sweet self around for a few minutes. (You can see where this is going.)

That moment when you think you’re a little damp. That moment when you realize damp isn’t covering it. That moment when you realize it isn’t just pee. That moment when it’s a whole lot of everything, including breakfast and last night’s dinner, on your arms. And your dress. That moment when you peek back into the crib, and it’s all up in there, too. That moment you realize you’ve gotta do some serious laundry, but you and your adorable, sweet, snuggly, smelly son need a shower, NOW.

I’ve written posts before about how my son can go from adorable to covered in some sort of bodily fluid in less than two seconds. Zero to sixty in no time flat. But what is more indicative of motherhood than that? Like when your toddler is being so cute, having a little pretend tea party, but throws a tantrum when her request to switch to real tea is denied. Or when the switch goes off in your kid’s brain, from “I’m having a great time at dinner with my grandparents!” to “I’m really tired. Get me out of this high chair, let me run out the door to where the car must be, and home into my bed, and I MEAN NOW!” Those moments are bound to happen, and of course at the least convenient time.  It’s just a passing moment. It seems like a serious situation when you’re in it, but it’s gone and forgotten as soon as it came.

If it wasn’t for moments like these, I wouldn’t have hilarious things to write about, or to post on Instagram or Twitter. I wouldn’t have anything to compare the cleaner moments to. I’ve got a messy, keep-me-on-my-toes sort of motherhood I’m working with, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.