Recently, a mom asked me about the NoseFrida. For those of you lucky enough not to know what a NoseFrida is, I will explain. Imagine a syringe, attached to a tube, which ends with a small rubber piece for your mouth. I call it The Snotsucker. And that’s what it does. You put one end into the delicate opening of your precious baby’s nose, and you suck all the snot out. Gross. When allergy season hit, I was amazed at how much mucous little bodies could produce. However, after the Snotsucker, the little ones could breathe again, and it didn’t matter how gross it was. The Snotsucker was here to stay.
Leaky noses are nothing compared to all of the other bodily fluids that come out of kids. I once considered being a doctor because I didn’t mind the sight of blood. Then it occurred to me that blood was only one of the secretions humans make, and right there my possible career in medicine was over. When I was pregnant, burp cloths were on my list, but the small pack I registered for were no match for the projectile spit-up that my youngest child had inside. The piles of laundry became mountainous because she would eat, spit up all over me, I would clean it, change, and then she would do it again. There were some days, in the zombie-like dream of those first months, where I decided that I could tolerate just wiping my clothes clean because delirium is real. Gross.
Adding to the laundry pile were all the cute precious baby clothes that had no chance against exploding diapers. Before kids, I thought diapers were built to contain pee and poop. I was wrong. They work a good 79% of the time. But then, when you’re finally out of the house, trying to be productive with your adorable baby, BAM! Poop explosion! These types of things tend to happen just when you’ve run out of diapers, or you have gone through all the extra clothes you’ve packed. Grosser than gross.
I thought as my children grew up it would get better, but then came potty training. The time to chuck the diaper out and throw caution to the wind. Beds, car seats, couches, carpets, any surface really was now open game for “accidents”. Eventually, my whole day revolved around asking “Do you have to go potty, let’s go try”. I didn’t even care how loud I said it or bothered to stop a conversation with others for it. Because I had already cleaned enough pee and poop to fill a lifetime. Gross. Gross. Gross.
The older my kids get, the grossness hasn’t subsided, it has only evolved. There are countless incidents of flu, forgotten moldy school lunches, dirty bloody cuts, stinky laundry, and the list goes on and on. As a mother, cleaning up all of these things is usually a thankless job, but I do it all with love (and maybe just a smidge of fleeting resentment).
Parenthood is definitely not for the weak of heart (or stomach). For those with kids, I stand in solidarity, for those considering, just remember, those smiling, giggling faces are adorable for a reason. Because ALL kids are gross.
