My life’s purpose can be summed up by this:
Dad brings kid to me. “He’s your son.” Meaning kid has pooped. I clean it (obviously). Because I am Mom. That is what I do. I do whatever everyone else is too busy, too grossed out, or feels too degrading to do. I don’t receive a paycheck for it. But maybe, just maybe my kids will always love me. That is “pay” enough.
And, besides. If anyone ever offered to change the poopy diapers for ME, I would die of shock.