I’m in a stage of my life right now where 99% of my time is spent in my pajamas, at home, smelling like breast milk and poop and ketchup and raisins. It’s not very glamorous.

But guess what?

I’m in love. I’m in love with Motherhood. I’m in love with the fact that my entire day is focused solely on making sure an almost three year old and an almost three month old survive to see another day. I’m in love with the fact that cheerios are a main source of my daily diet and that I’ve memorized the theme song to Dora. I’m in love with the fact that sometimes Roma cries during every nap unless I hold her. So the dishes don’t get done. The laundry is still sitting in the washing machine–wet and mildewy–waiting to be washed for a third time since I keep forgetting to transfer it to the dryer. The floors are covered in crumbs and the toilets haven’t been scrubbed in weeks.

I. Am. In. Love.

I’m in love with the fact that sometimes I get woken up at various hours in the night to ease a gassy tummy, calm the screams of a nightmare, massage the cramping foot of a growing toddler, and feed a hungry baby. I’m in love with the fact that one of these little humans knows that my name is Mom, Mommy, and Momma. I’m in love with the fact that the other little human is tracking my voice and smiling at my face and wanting me to hold her. To rock her. To cuddle with her. To just spend hours staring at her.

I’m in love with the fact that I have to drink coffee in order to stay awake and that my belly sags over my underwear. I’m in love with the fact that I have two scars that show the lengths I went through to have this love. These little loves. My little loves. I’m in love with the fact that one of them likes to wear high heels while she waters the plants and the other likes to be splashed in the face with water during bath time.

I’m in love with the fact that I’m twenty pounds overweight, that I have stretch marks covering my thighs and lower belly, that my boobs are double the size they normally are and that my hair is starting to fall out. I’m in love with the fact that every time I assess my outfit I have to ask myself, “Can I get my boob out?”

I’m in love with the fact that my husband and I spend hours reenacting the things our eldest daughter says. I’m in love with the fact that on a Friday night–when most people are out enjoying happy hour–I’m at home, bathing my daughters, reading Cinderella and cuddling on the couch. I’m in love with the fact that my husband wants to be here. At home. With us. Enjoying this messy stage of life.

I’m in love with Motherhood. I’m in love with my children. And I’m more in love with my husband because of it all. The rest of the world be damned. I’m a mother and I love it.