November 13, 2009 9:42 pm
The event I’m about to speak of happened a little over two months ago. I’ve just now come to terms with it and am finally ready to share the story with the bloggy world.
Elliot and Graham are active kids by nature. They both love to test the boundaries on a second by second basis which makes every day a new challenge. Most days, I fall into a heap on the couch the minute their little tow heads hit the pillow, unable to move or think for the remainder of the evening. This day was no exception.
We’d gone to Gymboree post-nap to kill time until dinner. I was trying my best to follow the Gymboree rules and stay a “hugs distance” from my kids at all times. It’s an impossible feat though since my kids have a secret pact to split up and head in opposite directions any time I set them free. They then both find the most death-trappy pieces of equipment to scale, forcing me to choose which kid to save and which obviously unloved kid I’ll let fall to their death. I can only reach one in time so these days, I usually let Graham work it out on his own since he’s a foot taller and fifteen pounds heavier than Elliot.
On this particular day, Graham bee lined for the monkey bars. I’m somewhat of an overprotective parent who doesn’t yet let her two year old climb monkey bars so they’ve become the bane of my existence. Every fucking time we head to Gymboree, I spend the entire time fighting Graham to “get down off that ladder RIGHT NOW!”. We’ve spent countless timeouts in the Gymboree lobby over monkey bar wars and now Graham was at the top of the ladder again, threatening to attempt to climb across. He went for it and was instantly stuck, hanging from the bars, unable to hold on and afraid to let go. I sauntered over and told him that he had to work it out on his own and either climb back to the ladder or let go and drop to the mats below. They were cushioned, people, don’t give me that judgy look.
So as I’m playing monkey bar chicken with Graham, I’m keeping one eye on Elliot who is across the room. I notice her chewing on something but since Graham’s the one in the death trap situation, I have to let it go until I can win the war with Graham. I forgot to mention that Elliot has a penchant for eating stuff off the floor, lint, dirt, leaves, whatever will fit in her little mouth goes right in. It’s exhausting and on this particular day, I developed a cavalier “fuck it” attitude. When I finally made my way over to Elliot, I picked her up and stuck my finger in her mouth. Out came a chewed up chunk of something. Chocolate. No, not chocolate, uh, same texture. I brought my finger to my nose and smelled the confiscated chunk. OH MY FUCKING GOD, MY DAUGHTER IS EATING A PIECE OF SHIT. Not just any shit, rogue shit from an unidentified shitter that she found who the fuck knows where on the Gymboree play floor.
I started gagging. I wasn’t sure what to do. I had only gotten out maybe half of the shit on my first finger-mouth swipe and I had to go back in for more. Elliot was grinning, happy to have gotten a reaction out of me. I swept her up and ran to the bathroom, nearly knocking over anyone who got in my way. Once there, I started rinsing Elliot’s mouth out with water and then spotted the liquid soap. I coated my hands and started scrubbing her teeth and tongue with the soap. She was completely unphased by the entire event, still grinning her impish grin while I dry heaved and scrubbed her mouth out.
The whole thing took maybe two minutes. I set Elliot down and went to tell the manager that my formerly clean daughter ate a hunk of unidentified shit. Elliot immediately headed back in the other direction and found another tiny piece but this time I was onto her. I washed her hands and the manager vacuumed the entire place while we sat there and watched.
There are no words to describe how disgusted I felt while I cleaned human shit out of my daughter’s mouth. It somehow made things worse not knowing whose shit it was or where it came from. I had a choice to make at that point. Sell my shit eating daughter on ebay or try to forget about the ordeal and move forward. I chose the latter and I decided to keep her. We brushed her teeth several times that night and It took me a day or two before I accepted any of her sweet kisses. Eventually I got over it and things were back business as usual. These days, I watch Elliot like a hawk. She still finds random pieces of hair or lint or scraps of who knows what and they go straight for her mouth but I’m always one step behind her with my HAZMAT suit, ready for cleanup. At least I have this story filed away to ward off any future would-be-kissers.
Pucker up, bitches!