This morning, as I fed FOH at 6a.m., I vowed I would brush my teeth before leaving for my follow up appointment with McDreamy.

I might have forgotten to do this the last two visits, but whose counting?

Then suddenly it was 10:15, TC was ringing the doorbell {he’s become my personal chauffeur as of late}. There was no time for breakfast, let alone for teeth brushing, which come on, isn’t that often times a little over rated anyway if we’re being honest?

I frantically threw a change of clothes in the baby bag and tossed on some semblance of normal people-wear clothing. The kind that doesn’t scream, NEW MOM!, too loudly.

Mid sentence with McDreamy, I noticed that not only did the shirt I have on contain a huge patch of dried newborn spit up {still wondering how I missed that}, I also had a hardened clump of it in my hair.

Instead of apologizing and thinking this was one of my lower moments as a Mother, I felt pride.

I might be a walking mess but at least my kid doesn’t look like one and dammit if I’m not just over the moon that I made it to a doctor’s appointment on time.

There’s going to be a hell of a lot more missed chances to brush my teeth, shower {it’s been three days} and catch things like dried crusty hair spit up. But hey, I’m living it and making it …

At least this is what I tell myself to feel better.

This isn’t lowering the bar, it’s raising it, People.