Having kids is a constant test. Of your patience, your mettle, your marriage and constantly, your gag reflex.
A year ago at this time, my son was hosting Hand, Foot and Mouth disease. It was gross, and we survived. Then he got it again. Shouldn’t there be a limit to unconditional love?
This June, he has so far escaped that disgusting fate (knock on wood!), but we haven’t escaped the grossness. Because today we are knee-deep in potty training, and this kid is a sprayer.
The post I’m resurrecting today explores the cruel reality that no matter how gross your kids are, or how obnoxious they can be, none of that trumps your devotion to them. Make no mistake: unconditional love kind of sucks. Because I’d really much rather let my son fend for himself when his ass explodes, but no. Stupid biological imperative.
Every time my love for my son is tested, my love wins. Even when it involves fishing though his feces for the penny he swallowed.
Original post: How Much Do You Love Your Kids?