I have a confession to make.

I have to confess, the term "Domestic Goddess" is deceiving. Though I'd like to think I make it all look easy; managing a house, cooking, cleaning, taking care of a 1 year old, 2 dogs and a husband, there are times that I can admit I fail. Epically.

Sometimes this Goddess comes frighteningly close to losing it. There are times, often more than once in a day, that I look around and thing Mommy needs a vacation. Like tonight, it had been a great day. Baby Girl took a nice long nap, I cleaned the floors and did some laundry and even had time to lay down for a bit myself. Hubs was at work, Mommy was feeding, bathing and cleaning up after Baby Girl and the dogs were lazing about the living room like most evenings. I had just taken Baby Girl out of the bathtub, diapered her and set her on the carpet to play. As I went to the kitchen to get her a cup I heard her frantic cry, "Mommeeee! Mommmeeee! Mommmeeeee!!!" I came back into the tidy room I had just left to see that it had been transformed in an instant to the Room of Horror. Neon green diarrhea, the likes of which were eerily reminiscent to a scene from The Exorcist, covered her hands, feet, legs and a large portion of my 5x7' rug. (On a side note, leak guard??? Ok, Pampers, can we be a little more honest? How about, our diapers sometimes hold in all the pee!) She is holding her arms out to me like she wants me to pick her up?!? I think to myself No Way!!! I am NOT touching you! Who is going to clean this up??? Then it occurs to me, I AM Mommy! There's no one here to do this but me!!!

Sighing, I grip her by the arms and run back to the bathtub while she screams "Nooooo! Mommy!!!" (The only two words that she says with perfect clarity.) As I'm running and she is dripping down the hall I look over my shoulder to see my black lab LICKING THE CARPET where my daughter has JUST CRAPPED! I should have expected it. It shouldn't have even phased me. But there I stood in momentary shock as I witnessed what had to be one of the most disturbing sights of my life. I can almost hear my sister saying, "This is why I hate animals!" Grabbing the nearest object (a tube of toothpaste) I whip it down the hall at the unsuspecting animal screaming, "BIMMER!!! NO!!!" He looks up at me with clueless eyes as poo flings from his mouth and across my floor, the floor that I had JUST cleaned!

It was at this moment I thought to myself "Domestic Goddess" is such a deceptive term. More like "Domestic Asylum Patient" or "That Woman We Once Knew That Went Crazy." You see, Dear Readers, I am not a Domestic Goddess in any real sense of the word. I am, however, entitled to call myself whatever the poo I want. This is, after all, my blog. And you all know that you should never argue with the woman who just scrubbed diarrhea out of her carpet, and then dog vomit out of it 10 minutes later...