Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?
This morning began like any other. I awoke to the sounds of Maggie chattering away in her crib at 6:00 a.m.. I got up bleary eyed, let the dogs out and fed them, made the coffee, and prepared Madge’s breakfast bottle. Had the usual early a.m. playtime with Madge which consists of her drinking her bottle, sloshing it around, dropping it on the bed, crawling to the edge of the bed to precariously dangle a limb off the side until I pull her back in. Lather, rinse, repeat.
She approaches me as though coming in for a hug, but instead grabs a fistful of hair in her sticky little hand and pulls AS HARD AS SHE CAN. It hurts. I say “NO MAGGIE!” in my most stern voice, and grab her hand. She stops abruptly, looks at me wide eyed, pauses, and breaks out in uproarious gleeful sinister laughter. My miniature masochist. Again, lather, rinse repeat.
I put her in baby jail while I shower. She begins to bellyache from the boredom and I remove her from her crib and let her roam around a little as I dry my hair. We are pretty well baby-proofed so she has the run of the kitchen, the hallway and the bathroom, at least while I am in it.
She toddles back to me in the bathroom, grinning with all the might and magical powers of her juicy fat little cheeks. She has what appears to be a soggy raisin stuck to the front of her thermal t-shirt. She also has remnants of this substance smeared on her nose and mouth. I pluck it off and toss it in the garbage. Then the smell hits me. It’s POOP. POOP. My daughter has ingested POOP. Where for the love of GOD did Maggie find POOP in the house?
We keep a clean home. When I say clean, I mean my husband should buy stock in Clorox and soft scrub with bleach, because we keep them in business.
There, on the kitchen floor is the smear of poo. Evidence of the source. The source which seems to have been tracked in by the shoe of an unknowing accomplice.
I hold back the vomit as I frantically wipe the POOP from her face and hands. MY BABY! SHE ATE POOP!!! I KNOW SHE ATE POOP BECAUSE SHE IS BREATHING HOT POOPY BREATH ON ME!!! AAAAGH!!!!!! ACK! HACK! BLECH! YYYUUUUUCCCCKKKKKK!!!”
I wonder to myself “Can you give Listerine to an eleven month old? No. There’s alcohol in Listerine. Toothpaste? Gum? Bleach? Soap? HELP!! MOTHERFUCK! MY BABY ATE POOP!!!!! MY BABY ATE POOP!!! ”
I resort to frantic scrubbing with soapy washcloth. I give her a cracker. I throw up a little in my mouth.
I finish getting ready, and get her in the car, Praying that grandma doesn’t notice the smell. What kind of a mother let’s her child eat poop?
The kind of mother who let’s her child pull her hair and then laugh maniacally at her. Yeah. That kind of mother.