Gross? What Does That Even Mean Anymore?

This morning as I wiped the snot from Gideon's nose with my sleeve, I realized that becoming a mother has brought me a long way as far as my tolerance for all things "gross".

This morning I also threw the diapers in the wash, grabbing handful after handful of wet and soiled cloths with my bare hand, no problem. Poop washes off.

I get spit up on every day, most of the time I don't even bother changing anymore. Barf stains are the new black for me.

Gideon is a boy. I get peed on sometimes when I change him (although not as much anymore). It happens. Not a big deal.

Potty training Judith involved being peed on, handling soiled clothing, and cleaning up accidents on the floor. I got over it.

I pick at Gideon's cradle cap. All the time. It's addictive.

Some nights when I get up to feed Gideon I realize that my side of the bed is saturated in breastmilk. Then I go back to sleep in it. Like I care what I will smell like in the morning. And the need for sleep outweighs the risk of drowning.

Judith. Spills. Everything. EVERYTHING. You wouldn't believe the towels I go through in a week cleaning up after her. Her face is always dirty and her hands always sticky. But she still deserves hugs and kisses and the hand prints on the walls and my pants don't bother me too much anymore.

Judith often eats off the floor. She drops her food there, and we don't like to waste. Sometimes I cringe because the floors aren't always so clean (because of all the food dropping, it's a vicious cycle). Other times I do it too. I discourage this practice in public places, however.

My kitchen is often starved for attention. We live in a basement apartment, so food starts to bring forth new life after being left out for about 10 seconds. Changing the garbage was agony when I was pregnant. But I've since gotten over it. Mold schmold.

I admit I do intervene when Judith finds something on the ground and immediately puts it in her mouth (candies, straws, popsicle sticks, etc). I take it away of course and try to get it through her head that WE DON'T DO THAT! But she hasn't died yet... or even gotten sick.

I kiss boo boos. Dirty, bloody gross boo boos. Nothing heals and consoles like mama's kisses.

I could probably think of more, but Judith just dumped her potty full of pee all over the bathroom floor... again. Gotta go!