The Mess of Motherhood

The bottom of every purse and tote bag I own is littered with your snack crumbs, Hot Wheels cars and Bluey underwear

When fishing for a pen in a meeting , I  inevitably pull out a tiny blue truck covered in crusted apple sauce or a crumpled up wipe containing remnants of some unidentifiable bodily fluid

Kids are gross. Everything in my life is covered in Goldfish Crackers, mud from dirty boots, sticky hand prints, piss

When will the mess end? And will I miss it?