The Ick Factor Subtitled GERMAPHOBE LIVES MATTER

My husband and I were fortunate enough to be blessed with a babysitter this past weekend. A very nice family from our church volunteered to come over and babysit all 6 minions so Matt and I could have some alone time. It took a while for us to coordinate but last Saturday was the lucky day.

I’m a creature of habit, so we ended up at a local favorite Mediterranean place for dinner. We ate hot meals without having to stop to cut up anyone’s food, wipe a butt, or clean up a spilled drink. We had a full conversation. It was lovely. After our dinner, we decided to keep our romance going by visiting the Verizon Store. What’s more romantic than being able to talk to a sales rep without having to chase children through an electronics store? After a 90-minute stint there, in a last-ditch effort to be out past 9 o’clock, we stopped at Starbucks. Here’s where this gets interesting.

OK, OK, I’m playing it fast and loose with the word interesting. Here’s where my story begins. After drinks at dinner and numerous water refills, plus an extended stay at a store without a bathroom, Matt and I both had to go. We walked into Starbucks and he ran to the bathroom while I ordered my drink. He returned and we swapped places. I walked toward the alcove in which the bathrooms were housed and stopped short. There were two individual bathrooms and both we marked with the same men/women/handicap signage.

Don’t worry, liberal friends, it’s safe to keep reading. This isn’t the conservative, Christian rant that you’re expecting. I have previously stated that I don’t care where anyone goes to the bathroom…I may alter that statement henceforth. Keep reading.

So, I am standing in front of the Starbucks bathrooms and having an anxiety attack. What was my problem? All I could think was that I didn’t want to go in the same bathroom as the gross boys...yep, that was my thought. Come on, don’t tell me that you’ve never had that thought. See, I know boys. I know how they go to the bathroom. Peeing never actually requires looking at the toilet. It’s based solely on sound. If they hear water, they’re good. Or so they think. In reality, when the sound of pee hitting water stops, it takes them 2.5 seconds to look down and locate the area where they are peeing and another second for the brain to send the signal to the body to move the stream back to the toilet. Do you know how much pee can get into unwanted places in 3.5 seconds? Come on…you all know this is true. I have cleaned up pee of the boys that I know and love in the weirdest places: shower curtain-twice, wall, bath mat…the list could go on forever.

And for real, that’s the least of the grossness than occurs in the bathroom. I won’t go into too many details but I’ll leave it with these facts. One, I cleaned bathrooms at McDonald’s for three years. Ninety-nine-point nine percent of the time the men’s room was the grossest and smelled the worst. Once, I even found an apple pie smashed in weird places….I don’t even want to know. Secondly, the term “dingleberry” did not originate in the description of women’s restroom issues.

So, what did I do? I reached back into the dark recesses of my subconscious memory and picked the bathroom in which I thought that Matt went, that way if I sat in pee I could pretend that it was at least the pee of someone I know and love.

I am now concerned however. We have solved the plight of the gender redefined, undefined…or whatever we call them, but what about the plight of the germaphobe? GERMAPHOBES MATTER TOO!!! If you find me smuggling bleach spray into bathrooms, you’ll know that I couldn’t take it anymore.

Poovember

When Elaina was a baby she had constipation problems.  She will, most likely, in a few years hate me for announcing this on the internet, but the fact remains that she was one stopped up little baby.  As Matt and I watched her grunt and strain as she tried to poo I remember feeling very helpless and thinking that, in the diaper realm, this was the most terrible thing ever.  Now having gained the perspective and wisdom that 5 additional years of parenting can bring, I know this not to be the case.  There is something worse...free flowing poo.


As Poovember started it's reign of terror, I could be found at the Dr.'s office with Asher.  He had an ear infection that required the use of antibiotics.  Many of you can see where this is going as antibiotics are great for treating infections but are terrible on the digestive systems of some babies (and Adults).  Mine happen to be those kind of babies.  So we started the antibiotic and my once-every-3-day pooper became my 3 times a day pooper.  And of course I had just bought some really nice diapers.  Way to waste the good ones, Son.  My years of parenting these antibiotic sensitive babies has led me to a solution for such poos...yogurt!   Solves it every time, except when the child will not under any circumstances eat food.  Yep, my 19lb son wanted nothing to do with any kind of real food whatsoever.  So, with every teaspoon of medicine I forced into his mouth he got an additional teaspoon of yogurt smoothie administered by dropper.  I am sorry to admit that I may have scarred him for life and he may never like yogurt again.  But you do what you have to do to battle the poo.


Poovember continued with the introduction of the "wet fart" to the Widmer household.  The repeated onset of the "wet fart" has been traced to some deli ham that has now been eliminated.  The "wet fart" seemed only to make it's appearance in the middle of the night and required my oldest child to run from her bedroom to the bathroom several nights one week.  I do not find it funny to be awoken in the middle of the night by the dreaded "wet fart" but my other children seem to think that it's pretty funny and even Jillian (2) has gotten in on using the word "wet fart."


Just when I was hoping that Poovember might be coming to a close, the worst happened.  Jillian has decided that she doesn't want to wear diapers anymore, but hasn't gotten the hang of regular underwear.  So against my better judgement, the child is wearing Pullups.  Jillian as well as my other, non-constipated children, is usually a 3 times a day pooper.  Yes, 3 times.  (I blame the Harris...it comes from that side, it has to.  The Davies are far too logical to go that many times in a day.  That obviously means that you aren't sitting long enough.)  So one day, the last week of Poovember, my girls had a party to attend without their parents.  They are such socialites!  It was with much trepidation and second thoughts that I sent Jillian to the party that afternoon in a Pullup knowing full well that she hadn't pooed at all that day.  In hindsight I should have paid attention to my uneasy feeling, but alas, I did not.  When she returned from the party I was informed that it smelled like she had pooed on the way home.  She walked into the house and showed us all the fun things she got at her party acting if nothing was wrong.  Matt noticed that the smell seemed to be very strong.  Getting a diaper and wipes I began what I assumed to be a routine changing but it was anything but routine.  The accumulation of three poos all in one caused it to overflow the Pullup and ooze onto anything in it's path.  Shirt, jumper, tights, all met with an untimely and unpleasant demise.  There was no salvaging them...not even when Matt offered to take them outside and hose them off.  Her coat got a good washing too, but thankfully the car seat was spared.


Yeah, constipation is an unpleasant thing, but can be solved for the most part with a little apple juice.  The free pooer is a harder thing to manage.  It appears the Poovember may be trying to make itself into a multi-month event.  I will never forget my "whole chipotle burrito incident" and on the 30th the children got some mints that, come to find out, have an artificial sweetener in them that has unpleasant results. (read: anal leakage).  I have wiped/changed Evelyn twice, Asher 3 times, and Jillian 4 times today.  Motherhood is a glamorous job but I suppose someone has to do it.