My sink and my heart overflow

My sink and my heart overflow. Lego crunches beneath my feet.  

I walk through a sea of empty toilet paper rolls coated with glue and glitter. I change yet into yet another shirt and use a wet wipe to wash the baby puke out out my hair. The wriggly little body on my hip reminds me to kiss a fuzzy head that smells like heaven.  I am famished. I try to warm up a bowl of soup, but don't remember to eat it for another hour. My tea is stone cold. The counter is strewn with crumbs, and glue sticks and pamphlets from school.  In the past hour I have navigated through a spider web of tape, changed two diapers, nourished a small human, placed stamps on 45 Christmas cards and gathered a mountain of paper snowflakes. It's only 10:00am. A tiny girl garbed in dress up clothes whirls into the room and proceeds to spread play dough from one end of the table to the other. A blanket fort is being constructed in the corner of the living room. A half eaten apple sits neglect nearby. The  shriek of joy and a howl of frustration are the anthem of my day.