Mothers Do The Strangest Sh*t


 



I never realized just how gross I was until I became a mother. The other day I licked my finger for the first time to wipe a smudge of something off my child's face. Seconds later I realized the line I had crossed. Yup, I did a yucky mom thing. If I catch a whiff of something foul I will hoist my boy into the air and sniff his butt, an action that up until now I thought reserved exclusively for canine greeting. When Duper wants a snack, I scoop a handful of his cheerio-like treats and put them in front of him. On the floor. I've tried presenting them in a bowl only to have it immediately dumped. I'm just cutting out the middle step and wash one less bowl. Hey, I wash my floors every Monday and we don't wear shoes in the house. And every child has a dirt quota they need to eat. I'm just doing my part for his immune system. 

 
And then he got his first cold just shy of ten months old. He had a temp, a head full of gluey snot, and was panting like a puppy. If a baby can not breathe through their nose, they also can not 1. sleep or 2. eat.  Enter: The SnotSucker!!! This one gets the gold ribbon for gross concepts that work really well. The picture on the box explains it well. Pointy tube in baby's nose, mouthpiece of straw in mom's mouth. And suck. There is a small foam filter in the connection point between the straw and tube to prevent actual consumption of baby snot. Even if there wasn't, I'd take my chances anyway. I could hardly get him to eat or drink for a full day, and had to explore every trick to get fluids and nutrition into him. Keeping him breathing through his nose was key. The only point of contention I have with the box is the smiling baby. I had to get the Duper in a full nelson to actually perform the task and do my best to ignore his cries of (translated for your convenience) “WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL MOM!?!” I found myself wondering if I could suck too hard, and how would I know? Would his soft spot cave in? As soon as his nasal vacuuming was complete and he was released from my evil mom clutches, all was forgiven. 


And then there is the hands free pumping bra. The first time I found this online, Duncan and I had a good laugh at the polished professional continuing her corporate life with the aid of this miraculous device. I had the Duper half way through an online pharmacology course. Within a week of birthing and trying to catch up on my class during his naps I had to eat my own laughter as I went crawling back to Amazon and ordered one with expedited delivery. I've never loved to hate something so much. Still using the damn thing as I type this. Makes me look/feel like an Austin Powers fembot. Call me Lactatia. Or Titania.

I am not shy about meeting my child's needs. I have breastfed any and everywhere. Without a drape. I live in Maui and it is hot as, well you know, Maui. I tried draping a few times and Duper would have no part of it and thank goodness because hot flash. Duncan was invited to a semi-fancy Christmas party last year and when baby was hungry, my fancy party dress was unzipped and titties came out. Merry Christmas to all.

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I've also changed his diaper everywhere. Most recently on unoccupied airplane seats. I suppose this makes him a member of the mile high club, infant division.  I will not leave my child sitting in a mess. I keep changing pads in my diaper bag to put under him for these occasions, to protect him from the world's germs, and to protect the world from whatever my sweet little biohazard has cooked up in his pants. I also carry plastic bags to contain odoriferous emanations. But I am more concerned with taking care of my baby than taking care of what the rest of the world thinks. 

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Until I had my Duper, I did not know that everything becomes a silly song. For instance, pooping:

(Sung to the tune of Jeepers Creepers)
Su-Per Du-Per itty bitty Pooper!
Su-Per Du-Per itty bitty Guy!

Or for the fine art of breastfeeding:

(Sung to the tune of Baby's got Back. I know. Shut up.)
I like big boobs and I can not lie
You other babies can't de-ny
That when mom walks in
With those tits above her waist
And sticks them in your face
You say “YUM!”......and so on

Or about just how much I love him:

(Sung to the tune of Frere Jacques)
Logey Bogey itty bitty stogie
Logey Bogey – boy I love so much!
Do I love him O so much?
(Yes I love him O so much!)
O so much!
O so much!
Ooh Ooh Ooh Ooh!

Or variations of the pet name Pumpkin:

(Sung to a tune only existing in my head – this one is really good for knee bouncing)
Pun-Ker-Kins!
Pun-Ker-Kins!
Punky Punky Pun-Ker-Kins!
Pun-Ker-Kins YEA!
Pun-Ker-Kins all the way!
Pun-Ker-Kins every day!
YEA YEA YEA!
PUN-KER-KINS!

Or just take the lyrics to boogie nights and make it Bogey nights... I can go on but you should probably stop me.  

Behold the enormity of my dork-dom. So I don't know what it is yet, but the continued unfolding of motherhood is going to continue offering a plethora of opportunities for me to be strange, gross, embarrassing, dorky, and an avalanche of other characteristics my high school self would have avoided at all costs. Wait, looking back, no she wouldn't have, either. Because I have always been (though not exclusively) all of those things. But now I don't fight it. I throw my arms open to all the world has to offer to be the best mother I can be to my son. The best dorky mom ever.



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