Why Mothers are gross. Part 1.

The idea for this blog came to me as I was literally chewing up my hotdog while wiping my three year old’s butt. It occurred to me that I am a disgusting creature. Allow me to tell you why I am so gross.

Sometimes I just watch my unnamely child pick her boogers, then eat them , without saying a word. I am mostly wondering why she likes to do so, but also wondering if my husband did the same thing as a child.

I did not. But I did bite my toenails.

I have this overwhelming urge to pick my children’s boogers. Like , if they are there, visible to my eye, THEY HAVE TO GO. I don’t care if we are in public or at home, I pick those things out with my bare fingers.

A clean nose means a good Mother. Not a clean Mother though.

If I don’t have a tissue nearby, the booger goes on my shirt. My shirt is also a tissue for children that are short , that run up to me and wipe their snot on it. Basically one big ass tissue shirt.

In fact I think I need a shirt that reads:

“This is a tissue.”

I know immediately by the smell of my daughter’s fingers that she has been digging in her tiny crack. Don’t hate me because I know my smells.

I like grooming them. I like trimming their little fingernails, and getting the dirt out from under their toenails. I don’t really have any hobbies, but when their toenails start to get long, my night is made.

I can go days without washing my hair in the name of being a great Mom. There are things to do around here, like drink three cups of coffee and push the kids toys underneath their beds before people come over.

Don’t get me started on the subject of cradle cap.

Actually, you can. I LOVE IT!

There’s nothing more relaxing than nursing a newborn and picking at their scalp. It’s like my calling in life. A never ending pick-a-thon and baby buffet.

I affectionately call it Cradle Crap.

I eat my kids dinner leftovers. Who knows what piece of chicken was regurgitated, and  who cares. It’s chicken and I haven’t eaten a real meal all day long. I don’t waste things I spend all afternoon cooking, then begging my kids to eat. I still have my dignity even though I’m having to hold onto it even tighter now that I am about to have a fourth kid.

I’m sure I’ll get even more nasty.

Are you gross? Meet me at the tree with leaves on it after bedtime. See you there!


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