Yes, this is actually the photo she sent to me. My options were a photo of her, of poop, or of a llama.
My Guest Blogger today is a long time friend (in real life) and someone guaranteed to make me laugh every morning when I read her Facebook status updates… no pressure, Jodi, no pressure. But get ready to giggle at this story.
Gross. I’ve learned in my 10+ years being a mom, that gross to one isn’t necessarily gross to all. My son, Sam, who is almost 11, cannot stand cleaning off dishes after supper…the thought of rinsing and loading them into the dishwasher….his little eyes get red-rimmed and the gagging noises start deep inside him…to him, that’s gross.
To my daughters, nothing is too gross. Smushed earthworms, picked boogers that resemble smushed earthworms…nothing.
But to me, “gross” are the questions that have to be asked all too often:
“Poop or chocolate?” “Poop or CHOCOLATE?” “POOP OR CHOCOLATE???”
“Why is my baby crawling on the floor at church, chewing on….chewing on someone’s used piece of floss??”
“Where did you stick that q-tip to make it that brown?”
“What do you mean, your head has been itching for days??”
“What do you mean, your tummy was upset, but you’re all better now….and why are you in my bed?”
“How did you find out the cat doesn’t like to be touched there?”
The questions could go on and on…every day it seems as if I’m astounded at how gross my children can be…or maybe how sanitary I’ve become? My husband is, luckily, the one with the steel stomach. He can smell the vomit erupting and have his hands ready for the catch. I, on the other hand, find myself in another room, dry heaving and mad because it’s quite possible I’ll now have TWO areas of vomit to clean up.
The grossest gross for me would be after the birth of my third child, Suzannah. She was born on a weekend so I had Sunday morning, in the hospital, to be with just her and not one visitor, cause they were all at church listening to my husband preach. I decided that I would give Suzannah her first bath. I got all the stuff ready…shampoo, clean towels, new outfit, little socks. I got the water all nice and warm, got her completely undressed…and just as I was lowering her into the sink, an elderly man burst into my private bathroom, completely naked and plops down on my toilet and starts having the grossest, smelliest, noisiest bowel movement I’d ever had the privilege of experiencing.
Poop was flying everywhere, he was grunting and groaning, going on and on about how those nasty nurses had him chained to the bed and wouldn’t let him poop. In the meantime, I’m pulling every switch and nurses call buttons I can find. Suzannah’s howling at this point, having been partially submerged and now cold and wet. My hospital room quickly fills up with nurses and doctors…and one very nervous nurse’s assistant who was supposed to watch the older gentleman. The Haz-Mat team had to come and swipe the man’s poop off every thing…it was so gross.
The smell…the visual…the residue left in my mouth…it wasn’t chocolate, that’s for sure.
Monkeys in My Bag 