Thursday, 19 February 2009

  • In one swift act, my daughter has outgrossed all three sons. Combined...


    You know how time sort of freezes when you realize something is very, very wrong?  I had that moment today when, after turning my mommy attention away from Molly for a brief time, I found her sitting chubby and cheerful on the floor between the open, under-the-kitchen-sink cupboard doors.  She wasn't getting into cleaning products.  She wasn't mischievously mess-making like she's done before.  And when she saw me she didn't try to dart away, so I know she didn't think she was doing anything sneaky or reprehensible.  She also apparently had no idea she was doing something retchingly disgusting.  Vomitously repulsive.  She had no idea that the mere sight of her (and memory of the sight of her throughout the rest of the day) would cause her shuddering mommy to dry heave over.  And over.  And over again.

    She sat there with both hands, both legs, and her big cheesy-grin-face covered, smothered in who-knows-how-old, solidified hamburger fat drippings.  Her clothes were plastered to her body (Gymboree outfit effectively ruined, I'm sure).  I couldn't get a grip on her slippery self without pulling her close to my body, quickly covering my clothes in the foul-smelling stuff as well.  I had her up to the bathtub in about 6 seconds flat, where I stripped her (and myself) down and went to work, focusing on breathing through my mouth so I wouldn't puke in the bath water.  I learned that baby shampoo, even in copious amounts, is only moderately effective on cutting grease.  I had to turn to dish soap eventually, to really get the gunk off of her.  (Dawn really DOES take grease out of your way, thank you very much.) 

    Bath complete and fairly successful, I dressed her in clean, non-stenchy, non-animal-fat-covered clothes and put her on the safe side of the "baby trap" while I attacked the lovely little disaster zone she'd created on the kitchen floor.  I still have the tub to tackle.

    I've washed my own hands half a dozen times and changed my clothes but can still smell it.  I'm pretty sure the Dawn cut the grease and sent it airborne where it is now permanently attached to my nose hairs.  I'm going to be hurling all day. 

    This morning's adventure which will, from this point forward, be referred to as the Molly Chews The Fat Incident of 2009, trumps the Toby Flaunts His Booger Covered Finger Incident of 2008, the Ben Thinks He Farted But Actually Sharted Incident of 2006 and the Brady Paints With and Eats His Own Poop Incident of 2002.  Combined.  Absolutely the grossest thing I've dealt with as a parent.

    And do you know how I can confirm that this is the single grossest thing I've experienced as a parent?  No photos.  Not a single one.  It didn't even cross my mind to grab the camera.  Anyone who knows me, knows this is cold hard proof that I'm not exaggerating.  Disgusting to the nth power.

    And I'm now firmly committed to never, ever keeping hamburger drippings in my house again.  Ever. 

    EVER. 

    EVER!



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