The Stars and Wipes Forever

Being a mom is often gross.  Childbirth – regardless of method- is full of blood and guts and fluids and other stuff.  And what’s next?  Diapers.  For years.

It doesn’t get much better after that. There’s snot, booger-eating, puking, that-time-that-Stella-ate-cat-puke, pooping in the tub, and things I cannot even remember or haven’t seen (yet).  And little kids have zero shame, although to be fair, why should they?  They’re cute and nothing is more precious in their parents’ eyes.  We think the world of our kids, sincerely believing -at least for a while- that no kid is as beautiful/handsome (although my kids are pretty darn pretty), smart (although my kids do seem astonishingly brilliant), athletic (well, other kids have to have an edge somewhere), or funny (one word- Felix).

You gradually get used to the gross stuff, especially once the kids learn to work the system by drawing you cute pictures of yourself often encased in crooked hearts or by telling you you’re the nicest, most beautiful mommy in the world.  Why yes, Magic Mirror.  C’est vrai!

But every once in a while, something -some event- happens  which shakes your mom-battled self to the core and shit gets real – real gross, that is.  This stomach virus has been such an event for me.  Eight and a half days later, I’m a mom hollering “uncle.”  To be fair, I think we’re almost done. But over the past 2.5 days I’ve probably spent 4 solid hours perched on the edge of the tub while liquid poured from my son’s butt.  Why did I sit, you ask?  Because if I didn’t, the second he finished (for the 73rd time) he would leap to his feet, run to the door, holler “MyMom wipe my buuuuuuutttt,” dribbling butt soup all over the floor.  I hit the wall last night.  I could almost cry.  I was tired, my back hurt, my hands were (are) a wreck from so much washing/sanitizing, and there was only enough wine for 1.5 glasses.  And as cute as my son was sitting on the commode chattering about showing the cat some science, I was sick of it.  I was tired of gross smells and liquids and germs.

I am immensely proud that Felix used the down time to work on “the eyebrow.”


It hits us all sometimes.

So guys/husbands/friends out there?  Even if your girlfriend/wife/bestie seems to be super-f’ing-woman, sometimes she needs something pretty or sweet or sweet-smelling.  It doesn’t have to be much – a single sunflower, a small container of hand cream, a nice piece of chocolate.  And don’t forget the Lysol wipes.

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About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
This entry was posted in life, Parenting and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to The Stars and Wipes Forever

  1. joey says:

    Preach it. One word: Rotavirus.
    Lawd, that was the most disgusting week of our lives.

  2. Erika says:

    A couple weeks ago, during LM’s flu round 2, it was midnight when he called us in to tell he he needed help wiping. Help? Ha. He. Missed. The. Toilet. It looked like a murder scene, except instead of blood, ya know. My husband told me to “just go” and I will be eternally grateful.

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