I generally do not have a weak stomach when it comes to bodily functions. I've held many a head of a college roommate over the dorm toilet after a crazy concert choir party (don't laugh - those mezzo-sopranos can party hard). And I even cleaned up the barf and drunken piss of my college boyfriend before dumping him.
He peed on my shoes, people. There's just no forgiving that.
I sit glued to the television while my favorite balding rotund chef Andrew Zimmern eats roasted bats and sheep balls, although I admit that when the Man vs. Wild dude ate a live snake I did have to change the channel just briefly, mostly due to the gusto with which he tore into it. That and watching him speak with snake guts spurting out of his mouth didn't help either.
So when it comes to my children, I'm hardly squeamish. The regular occurrence of mucus fests, yak carnivals, and my personal favorite, the poop parties that accompany this parenting gig are just par for the course. And clearly, compared to the barf of your grubby, clothes-borrowing college [
whore] roommate, you might even say that your kid's vomit smells like roses.
Okay. That's extremely far fetched. Sort of like when people say that breastfeeding poop doesn't smell when HELLO clearly it smells, but you get my point.
I've wiped my kid's nose (and butt) with my shirt, so much so that the snot almost looks like an actual design and I've even eaten an entire meal with poop on my arm only to be discovered later after I realized that it wasn't my dinner than smelled like shit.
But for the life of me, I cannot deal with that damn slightly seepy hanging on by a thread crusty black umbilical stump.