A mother's work

It has been said that it is never done. A mother's work that is...or is that woman's work? Is a woman a woman at all unless she is a mother? Can a man be a mother? What is a mother anyway? What is a woman? Who am I? Where am I? Who said that?

See what happens when you are simultaneously making chocolate chip cookies, folding clothes, doing a load of diapers, making salsa, trying to get the baby to go to sleep, packing for the weekend and trying to watch Nate Burkus once again save millions of us from almost certain design despair!? You go crazy, thats what happens. I thank my lucky stars that we got a two story house because by doing so we are saving millions in gym fees and home gym equipment. I am gonna get a pedometer one of these days just to see how much I walk around this house I call home.

It is all worth it though. When the baby is asleep after the fortieth round of "Hush Little Baby" that included mama buying a pint of ale, the liberty bell and a cute call girl (when that call girl won't put out...etc.), and the sheets don't smell of vomit, and the bags are packed and the house smells of chocolate and cilantro, I can sit back, relax with my breast pump and a glass of wine and think to myself, what a wonderful world.

And to think, I make this look goooood.