Children are disgusting.
I can assure you all this is a statement of fact. Yes you may be pregnant and certain your child will be angelic, and you may be considering parenthood on the understanding your child will be different, but I have to break this one certain truth to you. Your child is or will be disgusting.
Miss Rose, for all her positives (and believe me there are more than I could list in a day let alone blogging time) is utterly rank. Just today I have had vomit in my hair (not my own), vomit on my leg (still not my own), snot in my mouth (you guessed it… Not my own), and drool in my belly button (okay maybe a little of my own…). I have also had to make strident efforts in preventing her from putting all of the above, and more, into her own mouth.
She loves nothing more than gunge. She doesn’t care what it is or where it’s from, but if it’s smushy and sticky she will squelch it. She has discovered that whipping her dirty nappy out from under her bum mid change sends a spattering of poop hither and yonder… Yet this doesn’t put her off. In fact it appears to be a powerful motivational tool for the whipping and spattering of as many poopy nappies as she can. She likes to throw food from her snack bowl onto the floor then stamp on it and crush it into the grain of the wood. She likes to lick things. Worrying things. Trolley handles, floors, loo seats…
A current fascination Miss Rose has is with the kitchen bin. Contained within that red metallic cylinder are a host of disgusting wonders. Old yogurt pots, gone off cheese and congealed dinner remnants to name but a few. First she discovered that it made a quite magnificent drum and proceeded to enthusiastically whack it with anything she could lay her hands on, but then she worked out the top lifts up. Already she is taken with hinges and will open and close doors, and lift and shut lids, in order to watch the hinges work, so to find a hinged object which not only makes loud clanging noises but hides a treasure trove of contraband within it was nearly more than the little baby brain could handle and the excitement was volcanic. I regularly shriek “NO!” As I launch towards her mid bin raid, but the open plan nature of our home means if I am ever to wash dishes or make coffee at some point in the day I will have my back turned. Swoop! Bin! Wonders of disgust.
Prior to parenthood I was, what my mother refers to as, fastidious. My husband says neurotic and my father says ridiculous, but that’s besides the point. The point is I liked clean hands. I was a frequent alcohol hand sanitizer user and carried squirt pots of it with me everywhere. I would never touch anything grubby directly and the idea of sticking my hands into anything which I couldn’t see the inside of was the stuff of nightmares. Then I gave birth and got pooped on.
I now out my hands in dirty water to unblock the sink without thinking about it. I stick my hands up the backsides of plush puppets without considering the potential bogies and slime that could be lurking within. I even touch the outside of my mothers car without coming out in hives.
Children are DISGUSTING but my handy little tip for coping with it is to become disgusting too. You’ll find things that used to gross you out don’t matter anymore because whatever it is your touching can’t be half as hideous as whatever DNA sample your offspring is going to spray up you later is.
You can check out all my contact info an links on www.jjbarnes.co.uk, I’m on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram so you can get in touch on there, as well as find links to all my work. There’s also www.sirenstories.co.uk which has all the work by both myself and Jonathan McKinney and loads of extra content such as background stories for different characters. If you want to subscribe on Patreon, its just $1 a month to help support our work and it also grants you access to our extra podcast a week, you can go to www.patreon.com/sirenstories.
Thanks as always for reading, and I’ll speak to you soon I hope!