If one were to make a brochure or a pamphlet or even, God forbid!, a short book called, perhaps, The Truth about Parenting, no one, I submit, NO ONE would actually ever become a parent. Because, by God, one is called upon to do disgusting things that no amount of money could induce you to do but you do it now, for FREE!, because and for no other reason: you are a Parent.
I will not trouble you with the gag inducing details of said activity, but suffice it to say I need a very, very large drink, preferably made by someone else.
Okay, yes, I will admit here that small children are cute, but they can also be vicious (they have sharp teeth! ouch!), and yes, their little hands are adorable when they pat you on the back or when they grasp yours. Cute! Cute!
But really.
I will say no more, for fear of betraying the disgusting which I promised not to divulge.
Except I will remind you that one time I had to put my hands out to catch the vomit (vomit!) of my son. And this, THIS, was even more disgusting than that.
Where is my drink?
2 comments:
I am afraid to think about this post. And also to remember some of the similar episodes from when my kids were young. I hope you're feeling better today. And the . . . situation is rectified.
My story isn't gross but of the same ilk: Zoe poked herself in the eye. "When are you going to cut my fingernails, mom?"
"What are you talking about?"
"My fingernails. They're long. They keep poking me. It's your job."
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Remind me tomorrow." (Scurry off to find drink.)
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