Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Don't Read This. It's Gross.

No, really.  You should stop reading now.

You can't go back and unread once you have read.

Seriously?  Why are you still here?

I warned you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Last chance...

Ok, then.  If this is how you want it.

Here we go.

Once, I was a new mom.

Are you sure you still want to be here?


I was a new mom with a tiny little Peanut.

A sweet squirmy little guy.


He had colic.


Here is where it get's gross.

Had the worst diaper explosions known to man.

All the time.

Little did I know that my son had a milk allergy.  And if I had only known I might have been able to eliminate dairy from my diet and save us both a lot of grief.  But I had no clue the colic and the explosions were not normal.

Not gross enough for you.

Just wait.

Or don't, cause it's really super gross.

On one of these occasions, he was about a year old at the time, I took off his diaper and ran him straight to the bathtub.

Got him all cleaned up and dressed.

Put him down for a nap.

Came back to clean up the mess on the changing table.

No diaper.

Where could the diaper possibly have gone?!

Oh, there it was.  In the next room.  In pieces.  Scattered all over the floor.

Only, it wasn't ALL there.

That's right.  The dog ate it.

Told you it was gross.  But it gets worse.

The dog ate the diaper.  The king of the disgusting diaper explosions.  Eaten by the dog.

Then he proceeded to...


Oh, yes.  That's right folks.

It was.



Told you it was gross.

Now, why on earth would I ever tell that story.

Well, first off.  As my husband has told me in the past.  When you see or know something that horrifically disgusting.  And you can't get it out of your brain.  You have a need to share the pain.  Someone else must suffer this knowledge along side you.

You're welcome.

But secondly.

There I was cleaning up poopvomit and feeling like the most miserable failure of motherhood ever.

And as an exhausted and frustrated mother, who turned to the internet for some solace, what did I find?

Helpful information about cloth diapering...

Now, this is not a bash against cloth diapering mothers.  Or against mothers who blog about cloth diapering with helpful advice.  I highly respect those mothers.

I am the mother that threw away the pooped in underwear when my kids were potty training.

Needless to say, cloth diapering is not for me.

What I am saying is, that information is helpful and necessary.  And I very often turn to those blogs for advice.

But it wasn't what I needed at the moment.

What I needed to know is that I wasn't alone.

That I wasn't the worst mother ever.

And I needed to laugh.

Yes, even at poopvomit.  Even though it still turns my stomach to think about it.

And I needed an outlet.

When the pipe gremlins attack.  And we have to empty everything out of the kids room.  Every piece of furniture.  Every bit of flooring.  Every toy.  Every poster off the wall.

And then we take it all back into their room only to have another leak spring up forcing us to repeat the process.  Over and over.

Some other mother out there would probably have a system by now.  But our system is to just shove it wherever there is an empty space.

And when I find myself climbing over dressers to get to the bookshelf for schoolbooks.  Or moving a pile of toys to open a dresser drawer.

And I can't get to all the drawers to put away the laundry, so it piles up.
Source: via Rachael on Pinterest

Making my house look like a tornado hit.


I have to.

And when my vacuum cleaner, that never worked all that well to begin with, breaks.  And my dad buys us a shop vac.  And I find that at 8 months pregnant I can no longer lean over to vacuum without toppling over.  Or bringing on Braxton Hicks contractions.  And I am terrified of what preterm labor might mean for my son.

And when I finally get a new vacuum, I discover the other vacuums never did that great a job at picking up the pet hair.

And my carpet is gross.


And I share those moments.  And maybe I play them up a bit.

Because somewhere out there, is a tired, frustrated mom cleaning up poopvomit and hoping and praying and thinking she can't be the only one.

No, you're not alone.

You are not alone.
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