My Kids Aren't Allowed to Die

I complain an awful lot about the work involved with being a mom. I mean, I complain a lot. Motherhood is a hard job, physically, mentally and emotionally. Anyone who tells you differently is a) not a parent, or b) a fucking liar.

That being said, I wouldn't trade it. I can't imagine my life without my children. If anything were to happen to them, I honestly don't know how I could go on living; the pain would literally kill me. 

I get so caught up in the daily tasks of taking care of young children that I forget sometimes how lucky I am to have two beautiful, healthy little girls. And when I remember, I literally cry with a mix of gratitude and fear. Suddenly the thought of changing another diaper or dealing with another temper tantrum seems like a luxury. I know if my children were taken from me, I would regret not cherishing every single moment I spent with them, and I would be ashamed that I took so much for granted. 

I won't promise never to complain about motherhood again, but I will try to remember that every moment spent with my girls is a moment I should be grateful for, even if I'm elbow deep in poop and puke.