You can’t hurt me anymore.

 

As the last week approaches before Angry Baby’s 1st birthday, I find myself amazed at what no longer grosses me out and how fortified my gag reflex is since she shimmied into our lives.

Nothing can bust me now. Human feces smeared this way and that, vomit down my back and or neck, and slobber, so much flurking slobber…all of these things cease to bother me.

True Story: Before Angry Baby was in the picture, saliva was my Achilles heel. Just thinking about loogeys, spit, and drool made me heave. Now I get a face full of “kisses” everyday that are so drool and spit-infused, I’m amazed that I was once disgusted by saliva.

Angry Baby has two kinds of kisses:

1. The Coquettish peck that she will give after 3 straight minutes of begging, “gimme kissers!”

You can tell her heart’s not in it with this type of smacker. If lips could say things, hers would say: “OK fine, here’s your stupid, phoned-in peck on the lips you sicko, now quit hassling me!  Geez where’s Chris Hansen when you need him!?”

The second variety of kiss is much more insidious…

2. The Face Eater that she decides when and who to give to. This kiss is 100% genuine and she only gives this kiss when she truly wants to say mmmm your face is delicious, I love you!

Angry Baby’s heart is completely in it with these kisses. She opens her entire mouth like the baby Great White Shark that she is, and with little warning attacks. All you see before she licks and chews every inch on your face is her tiny gaping maw coming for you.  And the saliva? There’s buckets of it. I’ve taken gym class showers that left me less soaked.

 As you can imagine, I’m no longer disgusted by spit. I guess systematic exposure to that which disgusts you, over time will cause all revulsion to fade. EGAD! I think I just solved the mystery of J.Lo’s ability to STILL have a career.

1:30am this morning, I was crawling back into my bed after a bout of sleeplessness, when I had another disgust barrier broken.

While L4L has been away on business, El Rey enjoys the spoils of being the “man of the house,” as manly as a 5-lb Chihuahua can be. Anybabies, he sleeps in the big bed while papa bear is away. Last night was no different. At 12:30am when I decided to get up for an hour and let the sleepy come over me, El Rey opted to stay in bed. That was a huge mistake.

At 1:30am I snuggled back into the warm awesome of the bed. As I situated myself I noticed something incredibly cold and wet. With the speed of a busted superhero tweaked out on pixie stix, I jumped out of the bed flipped on a light and surveyed the sheets.

Dog vomit. Oodles of sick, bile and “hard parts.” The best part? Yours truly was laying in it! Seems El Rey got a lizard at some point and it didn’t agree with his sensitive stomach. Poor Baby! (<—-sarcasm)

Because cleaning up lizard body parts and dog puke aren’t in my top 5 list of things to do at 1:30am in the morning, I quickly stripped the sheets  threw them in the garbage (no washer can remove the horror of what I saw/felt,) jumped in the shower, scrubbed off the entire top layer of epidermis and went back to sleep in a clean, non-vomit/lizard entrails covered bed.

There was no screaming, no wanting to spike El Rey like a football, just a calm realization. As a mother I no longer have the luxury of getting grossed out, by anything.

I have a child that takes dumps like a grown man (that I must de-smear offa her derriere daily.) My daughter insists on tonguing me with graham cracker still in her mouth. Each time I’m face to nose with her stinky wares or suddenly on the receiving end of a slobber tidal wave, I remind myself that I can’t scream or show revulsion.

Matter of fact, I look forward to her genuine shows of love, I just make sure I have a spare towel handy for cleanup afterwards. The man craps that I am forced to clean away from her buttcheeks, legs, my clothing, the car seat, the crib and wherever else she unexpectedly spreads it? Yeah, you never get completely ok with that. You see, I’ve said it many times before and it bears repeating: without the benefit of toilet water to mask the stench of feces, human excrement smells 100 times worse than you expect it to. No matter how tiny the human it is seeping from.

People, it just doesn’t get any lower on the food chain, than being a parent.

A year into this whole kid business, and while I anticipate the future disgusting horrors that await me, I have the stomach now to handle it. Do your worst world! Thanks to Angry Baby and her carnival of horrors, I’ve got the CHOPS!

Here’s footage of some weird dude motioning through BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN’S cover of “Mama’s Soup Surprise.” I had no idea “The Boss,” did a version of the classic kids campfire gross-out tune. But being as I just lain a whole bunch o’ nasty atttcha feets, it fits! ENJOY! PS I dare you not to fall in love with this creep winning winner!


Comments

You can’t hurt me anymore. — 3 Comments

  1. I’ve had a pretty strong stomach even before the kid.

    What skill I’ve obtained since procreating is the ability to judge when she’s about to vomit in order to quickly position the puke bucket accordingly, judging — in mere seconds!! — whether its projectile or an ooze.

    The slightest miscalculation requires paper towels, Resolve and resolve. By then, your attention is swept elsewhere creating a situation for more unattended vomiting. It’s like falling dominoes.

  2. Just wait till she gets her first stomach flu, which always seems to happen just after drinking large amounts of milk. And I’d advise against cleaning her room after she gets her period. That’s when I stopped cleaning my teen’s rooms. Blech!

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