Day 359: Mine.

OK. My house is officially disgusting.

I tend to not leave my Buddy in diapers (a habit that my husby jabs me about) so between the occasional piddle and/or explosive pooh on the area rug that I'm going to swap out this week (as was the case yesterday), topped with my stinky, leaky geriatric dog, our house or, to be fair, our couch, carpet and dog basket areas smell.

I didn't really notice it until yesterday when, while flopped out on Mr. Wigglesworth (our first communal purchase/marital couch), my husby said, "Everytime you get up then sit back down a waft of smell rises from the cushions."

I inhaled deeply, raising my swaying head with the breath (like I imagine a snake would do) and concur. " Hmm. So it does."

I think I've become immune.

But, this is the thing.

As my boy sits curled up and nursing in my lap...as I one finger type with him kicking my arm over and over and over...as I smell residual smell from yesterday, or perhaps new smell from today, with "Aloe and Soft Linen' fragrant oil diffusing from a candle lit diffuser, attempting to mask grossness (because we have company coming today), I have to say that I'm pretty darn happy with my life.

Never would I give up the mess, the smell, the sleep deprivation, the barking, whining, crying, or the lack of time to myself, for a life of solitude and cleanliness. Never would I trade this in for that.

Never ever ever.