Warning: this post contains a high level of gross! Proceed at your own risk.
I am not easily grossed out. I like it when my husband gives me gory details of some procedure he did at work. I flip through the pages of his medical journals and don’t wince at the pictures of who-knows-what. I’m pretty tough, usually.
This is handy, since being a parent is oftentimes very gross. As one of my friends put it once, there’s always some excretion from your kid getting on you. Whether it’s drool, spit-up, vomit, blood, or, yes, stuff that is in a diaper.
We experienced a quintessential gross parenting moment Thursday night.
I was busy in the kitchen, makin’ some Shabbos food, and my husband was in the bathroom with the kids, giving our toddler a bath while the baby happily stood by the edge of the tub, peering over at his brother (or the toys). There was happiness, giggling, nachas. What a beautiful family we have!
Then, from the bathroom, with a strained and slightly panicked tone, I hear my husband call out
“Honey, I need some help in here!!!”
Quickly, I wash and dry my hands, disastrous scenarios running through my mind. You know, the kind that I never would have thought about until I was a mother, but now have a permanent spot in my head space, urging me to exercise Constant Vigilance.
When I get to the bathroom (all of ten steps, maybe), I see my husband holding a struggling and kvetching baby, and a perplexed looking toddler standing in a tub. Oh, and excrement. Lots of it, also floating in the tub. Great.
But it gets better.
My husband fills me in on the situation, saying with a . . . giggle?
“I noticed that Little Man went to the bathroom in the tub, and then I noticed that Really Little Man was reaching into the tub, scooping it up and eating it.”
Eating it, people.
(These are the kinds of posts that I will have to delete when the kids get older.)
My husband is laughing with a sort of disbelieving chuckle. He chortles to me,
“Really Little Man has poo on his face. All over it!”
I fail to see the humor here, exactly. Mainly I am just GROSSED OUT. Big time.
I whip into action, swiftly removing the (still perplexed and now protesting) toddler from the tub. I wrap him in a towel and whisk him off to his room. I gently explain to him why he had to leave the tub so quickly, and he solemnly repeats the info back to me, in his squeaky little voice,
“Leave the tub so fast. Water dirty. Yeah.”
My husband is still amused by the situation. I am still grossed out, and more than a little displeased at having to clean/disinfect/sterilize/hermetically seal the tub and toys. Yuck.
Anyways, this is not the first – nor last, I suspect – time that there will be #2 in my tub. There will probably be more and varied grossness that I have yet to see. It’s just part of parenting. And that’s okay with me. Still, I wish there were a magic button I could push when things like this happen. You know, summon the amazing cleaning gnomes to disinfect those toys for me. Oh well…
What’s the grossest parental experience you’ve the the pleasure to share? Or have heard of?
(FTR, my husband gave me permission to share this story)