I feel so defeated some evenings. I can't watch my daughter every second of the day. I can't take my eyes off her, or it seems that something happens that involves a lot of cleaning and disinfectant and an emergency bath. I can't give my other child the attention he deserves when I'm doing all of that. I can't split my body in half and be everything to both of them at the same time.

I've been accused of the worst kind of negligence by having Robbie after I knew what a challenge Tiffany was. I'm a bad mother who deserves to have her children taken away simply because my daughter has PDD and takes off her pants to shit on the floor and play in it when I put her to bed for the night. Even worse as a mother because I chose to have another child, because I had a micropreemie and didn't take good enough care of myself while pregnant. I'm damned no matter what I do, and my daily penance is scrubbing shit out of the carpet every night. Tonight it was twice. Twice, while my husband works late and my son has an upset tummy. After a day of running between the kids. Playing with them. Doing Robbie's therapy with him, reading to Tiffany, playing with them outside in the yard for a short while before the sun got too hot and the day got too dusty. We did craft projects. I fed them healthy food and got her to sit at her table for lunchtime. If I try hard enough, is it enough to convince the public watching on from the Internet that I love my kids enough to be allowed to mother them? Tiffany wanted to have water play this afternoon, and wants to do it herself, and pulled my teakettle off the stove. I heard it smash on the floor as the sides broke. I swear, it's not possible to keep my eyes glued to her twenty four hours a day. I get angry that I'm expected to in order to prove my fitness. I get furious that people blame me that she's not toilet-trained and that she will rarely if ever tell me what she wants or needs without a game of twenty questions and three minutes of trying to make eye contact.

Obviously I'm a rotten human being. My daughter plays in her shit. I can't stop her yet. It's not for not trying.