Motherhood...Not for the Weak-stomached

If God were not the Creator of these precious little creatures He has entrusted to me and Doyl, I'd be suing someone for false advertising. They are so cute and cuddly. Their clothes and toys are soft and sweet. Everything associated with them is playful or delicate. So how can these powder-scented bundles be so "yucky"?

Now, I have a two year old so this is not some new revelation. I've just decided (since being so recently reminded) to comment on how disgusting motherhood can be. Before moving on, let me define "disgusting". I'm not talking a poopy diaper or spitting up some formula mixed with strained peas. I'm talking about messes that require everyone within 3 feet to immediately strip down and change clothes. I'm talking about smells that could bring in Homeland Security checking for chemical warfare or require HAZMAT for proper decontamination.

Last night my beautiful little baby threw up on me twice. Once that was out of her system, she felt better and smiled at me and Doyl (yes, he was up at this point). Her apology was sleeping until after 8 since she pulled me up for about 2 hours. I thought all was well and the disgusting was past until about 20 minutes ago when she experienced an explosion at the other end. Again, now that she feels better, is changed and her clothes are soaking (in hopes of being salvaged), she is playing contentedly on the floor next to me.

I've seen open heart surgeries on TV. I've seen all sorts of disgusting pictures in all of my nursing friends' textbooks. My husband has seen both natural childbirth and a cesarean. But, none of those ever caused me to go "uuuhhhhh" and nearly throw up myself. A poopy baby (not diaper, but baby with poop up her back) or the aftermath of baby vomit does. If you're a parent (especially a mom) I'm sure you're with me. However, we somehow manage to suppress our natural reaction, clean up the mess, and love on our precious baby...singing lullabies, stroking little heads and whispering soothing words in their tiny ears. Motherhood (or fatherhood)...It may not be for the weak-stomached, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.