19 Month Old Twins: We Do What We Can Because We Must

Major blowout alert. Repeat, major blowout alert.
Today after a nutritious lunch, 75% of which was thrown on the floor, Baby A smelled a little unfresh. I had already taken Baby B to his pack-n-play in the living room, which I do everyday before a brief storytime and hopefully-not-brief naptime. So, I thought I should check Baby A's diaper before the pnp transition and, if it was a huge poop, change it before storytime instead of letting him "get out all the toots," as I refer to it, before a diaper change, possible clothes change and bedtime for bonzos. Fill her up on Pump A!
So, as many mothers do, I leaned him forward and peeked at the situation. What did I find? Poop on my hand. So, I commenced with diaper change. I told Baby B we would be right back and took Baby A's shirt off to use as a buffer on the changing table. Down went shirt, down went Baby A, off came pants, open went diaper and this was a situation alright.
Blowouts have happened before, obviously since I am a stay-at-home mom of twin toddlers. There's the brief sigh and mental assessment. Then there's the gathering of wet wipes (my husband and I use the number of wipes needed as a scale of destruction - i.e. "Oh it was a F7 situation," because tornadoes and blowouts have so much in common ... ). So, I began cleaning and quickly noticed these wipes weren't cutting the mustard. Then I noticed poop on his arm.
What in the world. So, I lifted his butt and took a peek underneath. Poop. Everywhere. Another brief sigh and mental assessment. Well, this lucky duck is getting two baths today! I put his poop filled diaper in the diaper not-really-a-genie, gathered up the poop covered blankets and outfit, gathered him up, dumped poop covered items in empty washing machine (thank God it was empty) and placed his little poop covered body in the bathtub.
Just another day in paradise, right?
I relayed this incident to my husband via text. After some back and forth my husband texted, "I would have barfed." I sat there looking at his text. I have been cleaning up poop for almost 20 months. It went from black hot lava to a mustardy, seed festival to what sometimes seems like adult poop. Poop. It was like in sixth grade when I took sex ed and, at the start of the class, the teacher made us say, "Vagina vagina vagina penis penis penis." In this case it's poop poop poop poop poop poop. I've dealt with it so much it's almost as if the word lost meaning, like when you say a word so many times it starts to sound funny.
Him: "I would have barfed."
Me: "There's no barfing in mothering."
Him: "Cause you're tough. I couldn't do it."
Me: "No it's because you can't. It's survival mode. There's no room for you, just them."
He thinks this is amazing but I think survival mode is what it sounds like, surviving. I finished cleaning Baby A, got him dressed and went on with the day as usual. There's no time for a reaction and if I did react it would only be wasted. My kid is covered in poop. Feces! Fight or flight - I can't flee from this one. Baby B is waiting for his stories! Stick to the schedule mom!
If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? My kids don't have time for my feelings because they're toddlers and don't empathize. I wake up when my kids wake me up. From there it's go-go-go until they take a nap and I can eat my lunch, do a YouTube mommy workout video (with the blinds closed!) and watch something mindless on television. When they wake up it's go-go-go until I eat my dinner that I cooked. No time for nonsense. We do what we can because we must.