So the other day my kids were getting into their wagon when my ten-month-old spit up a little on his shirt. My neat-freak husband wiped it off with his finger and looked at me with this giant grin. “Can you believe how far I’ve come?” he said proudly holding up his wet finger. It took every ounce of willpower not to go get a gun and shoot him. I stood there watching my beaming husband thinking to myself, “Do you know what I touch on a daily basis?”
Let’s just take this past week for example. That’s right, all this in seven short days.
1. My son threw up on me the other day. No biggie. I mean, there have been times he’s even thrown up in my mouth a little. Let me tell you, regurgitated formula is not as good as it sounds. This particular time he threw up on my neck. I wiped myself down and proceeded to go about my day. I mean, it’s not like I could lock my kids in a closet and quickly go take a shower (Just a little something I learned from DSS). It wasn’t until four hours later that I was putting on my fat pants and fat shirt (yes, I have both) when I discovered my mistake. I took off my bra and two mortifying things happened. My boobs dropped down to my bellybutton, as they do every night, and my bra cups runneth over with throw-up. Yup, four hours later. Welcome to vomitville. Or as I like to call it, motherhood.
2. Yesterday morning I walked into the kitchen to make my son a bottle and I stepped in something cold and wet. Hmm, milk? No, it was mushy. Cereal? No, we hadn’t had breakfast yet. I looked down. Oh, isn’t that wonderful? The cat had thrown up in front of the AC vent and I just stepped in it. With bare feet. Does anyone know of a good taxidermist?
3. My daughter is potty-trained but still wears a diaper for naps. So what does she do? She waits until she’s wearing the diaper to take a dump. On purpose. Every day. I was changing her diaper when she exclaimed, “My ear!” Oh no. Oh yes. Oh no! I guess when I was vigorously wiping her, a poop particle flicked off the wipe and into her ear. Oh shit. Literally. It was way in there and I had no choice but to wipe it out with my pinky finger. Insert gagging sounds here. For the rest of the day, no matter how much soap I used, my hands still smelled like poop.
So there you have it. Just a few of the gross things I touched this week. And that doesn’t include the human hairball I fished out of my son’s mouth or the poop particle that I could not get off his peeper no matter how much I tried. But I guess that’s what being a mother is all about. Or the guy who cleans the porta-potties.
Just curious, what’s your grossest motherhood story?