We had dinner this weekend with Bubby and Zayde, also Bubby and Zayde to Jack's friends Chelsea (3 months younger than J) and Emily (1 year). Dinner conversation turned, as it often does with a mother of a toddler, to bodily functions.
I will say it right out loud: Zayde is a big old chicken. The man hunts bucks with a bow and arrow, and then proceeds to field dress them, but I have seen him nearly lose his lunch over a particularly rancid diaper. Don't ask me how we finished dinner over this talk, but apparently snot bubbles are his particular weakness. He finds them the most horrid, offensive things in the universe. Snot bubbles.
I have seen my father - all 6' 5" Italian Stallion of him - break the sound barrier moving in the opposite direction of helpful when Jack starts to gag. I believe he actually left a puff of smoke shaped like his body, like a cartoon character. He maintains that he was just going to get paper towels. Liar. He still believes that anyone with enough moral fiber can talk themselves out of throwing up. He once left the room green and quiet when the dog barfed after eating too much snow.
I mention all of this because this weekend I was awakened by the sound of a vomiting child. At 2 a.m., I was able to change the sheets, and clean, change and comfort said child all by the glow of his Curious George nightlight. Daddy slept through the entire thing. Or pretended to sleep - one of the two.
I think the last time another person's bodily misfortune made me gag was long before Jack was born. Perhaps once you grow an entire person within your person, you are no longer able to be grossed out by the unfortunate things said tiny person does with their body.
I have cleaned up more puke than I like to discuss. Jack, to this day, has texture issues with his food. If there is an unexpected texture to something, he will hork it up without a second thought. I once saw him hit the dog from 10 paces with the remnants of a bologna sandwich. The kid does not mess around.
We have a special term for those diapers that can make any non-parent beg for mercy - it's the ooey gooey pooey. We must laugh, lest we cry and he mere stench. And snot bubbles? God bless them, kids just can't help it until they learn the mechanics of blowing their noses.
So what is with these men? What makes their stomachs turn as they - almost literally in many cases - run screaming from the room? Man up, people! It's just a little (insert favorite excretion here)!
I've said it before and I'll say it again - only your mother loves you enough to pick your nose.