Blech **Due to the graphic nature of this post parental discretion is advised**

All mothers are so quick to share the stories of their child’s first smile, first laugh…blah, blah, blah.

It’s all so beautiful and it forces you to picture motherhood as moments where fairies come and help dress your sweet baby that never cries and where unicorns dance in a chorus line behind you as you go through your non-stressful day of raising your child.

W.H.A.T.E.V.E.R.

Motherhood is gross.

So this is it – the nitty gritty. The gross details that only few have been brave to share with me and I’ve – unfortunately – had to experience.

It all starts on B-day – the birth of your precious Angel.

Craig was allowed in the delivery room. He was allowed to hold my hand, give me supportive words, and look lovingly into my eyes…and NOWHERE ELSE. We had discussed restricted zones that only doctors and nurses were allowed to venture to. We discussed that if we wanted more kids – we’d have to keep – erm – certain parts – sacred and sexy. So – he’d be cheering me on from the North Pole….the South Pole was strictly off limits. Then…the actual delivery was upon us. And although we discussed in length and in detail the rules of engagement – he somehow was granted and All Access Pass. Ugh – he said he didn’t look – but come on – it’s like a train wreck. You have to look or at least take a peek. I knew what was happening down there – I watched “Knocked Up” (my birthing video of choice) – for goodness sake.

Blech..

Then the nurses brought Izzy to us. Clean and shiny – smelling like all babies should. Then – over the course of our hospital stay – Iz threw up on herself and on me, we had some moments where my diaper changing skills were put to the test and some “stuff” got on her little hospital tee. Now – I really believed I was staying at a full service hospital. Not only did I think the nurses and doctors were supposed to make sure Isabelle was healthy – but I thought for sure they’d be bathing her and changing her outfits during our stay. It was not until the last day – when I picked up my sweet girl and realized she smelled – not so fresh – that she hadn’t been bathed or wiped down at least – since.the.day.she.was.born.

Blech…

Then we took Isabelle home. We finally did bathe her. But, no matter how clean you try and keep a baby – at the end of the day – they just smell. Formula or breastfed – babies are going to spit up milk. And in those sweet little rolls under their chin, tidbits of that spit up get lodged in the crevices of those rolls. It’s the perfect condition – milk, vomit, warmth, skin that doesn’t see the light of day…breeding ground for a cheese factory. Because the smell is like day old hundred year old cheese.

Blech…

Ah yes – and finally – the moment all mother’s hear about and dread….the blowout.
I had heard this urban legend and thought it was a folk lore of sorts – like the lady of the lake or an administration that would actually do the right thing for the US citizens (ooh BURN…sorry – that’s the cynic in me…and this is not the forum for discussion – if you want to share your political opinion with me you can email me at ireallydontcarewhatyouthink@me.com)

BUT – it happened. And I like to think that my sweet girl is advanced so she just does things above and beyond the norm. And of course – the blowout was not different.

I was sharing a tender moment with Isabelle. It was a Sunday – as I recall. The sun was shining, bird were chirping, husband up and doing chores…

I was nursing her. She was making eye contact with me and I would softly whisper how much I loved her. Tell her hopes and dreams and she suckled on my breastesses. Then – her little brow furrowed. I could see intense concentration and her face starting to turn red. Uh oh – I’d seen that face before. She was getting ready to drop a deuce.
So – there she was. Eating while trying to poop (hey – at least she’s learning to multi-task). Then it happened – she pushed as hard as she could – and the blow out happened. “It” (we all know what it is…oh geez – put an “sh-” before “-it”…there you go…) went everywhere. I’m pretty sure none of it got into the diaper because it went up her back, down her legs…all over me.

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

As she pushed as hard as she could – since her little digestive system isn’t fully formed – the milk she had worked so hard getting for the past 30 minutes – shot out of her mouth at the same time she pooped. Spit up – like the Exorcist minus the evil.

So spit up AND sh_ _ everywhere – all over me, all over her.

BUT HOLD IT!

…as she blew out of her diaper and vomited – she did not bother to unlatch. There was maybe a split second where there was shock on her face – but it didn’t phase her. She stayed latched onto my breastesses and just kept on sucking.

Homegirl didn’t want to miss out on a meal (like mother like daughter)….

BLECH!

Comments

  1. Tiffany Garcia says:

    I love reading your blog. It's so real, refreshing and completely honest.

  2. You are just soooo funny! I so like how to tell it like it is! Can't wait to see you girls next week!!!

  3. Seriously…you are hysterical. That was so funny…loved it. Isn't motherhood grand? :)