Why?

Slowly, I pick up my foot. Why, oh, why, is there ketchup all over the floor?

I take a deep breath trying to center myself. I shouldn’t have walked out to the mailbox on my own.

Clearly, the toddler has figured out how to open the fridge. This is good, I tell myself. He is learning, I remind myself. How smart he must be, I continue, trying to sway the rising tide of fury.

My efforts are in vain. I holler the child’s name. I hear the scurrying of little feet above my head.

Why, oh, why, did I ever think having children was a good idea?

I tap my foot impatiently waiting.

He makes his way, step by step, painfully slow, down the stairs, prolonging the inevitable judgment.

He rounds the corner, head bowed, eyes downcast.

My breath catches in my throat. I try to hold it in. I can’t.

Laughter burst forth from me in a torrent. His head is a sticky red mess. Whatever was he thinking?

“It’s not funny, mama!” he chastises me.

“I know,” I squeak out between chuckles. I wipe tears from my eyes. “You’re right, love. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Why?

Because joy.

That's why.