Pink Pamplemousse

Sunday, my son had a fever. We took him to ER because he wouldn’t walk, he barely talked, and he wouldn’t even smile. He just wanted to lie around, and this was entirely opposite of his regular exploring-adventurer self.

We arrived to a packed waiting room. Coughing babies, withered elderly in wheel chairs surrounded by relatives looking more annoyed than concerned. An Islamic family crowded beneath the TV mounted in the corner showing a Barbara Walters interviewing Miley Cyrus on a special edition of 20/20. Then Babs highlighted the leading lady of Juno and sang along to her version of the theme song. In all the chaos, the last thing I needed to hear was the famous journalist humming, “with… out… you… doot doot da doot doot da doot doot da doo doooo…”

After the ER nurse interrupted America’s latest idols, announcing that the wait would be at least three hours and hopefully not six, the little feverish sweetheart cooled down and we decided to take our chances at home with a bottle of infant Tylenol.

Once we got home and he had some food some meds he wanted to play… weren’t you just miserably lethargic two hours ago?

Well, thank God. I took Monday off work just to be sure he didn’t take a turn for the worse, and we stopped into the doctor’s office just to be sure.

During the hour-and-a-half wait in the clinic lobby; my son decided it was playtime. Let’s read a magazine and rip out all the pages. Okay now lets eat just kidding lets jump. But wait if I hit this chair it makes noise. Let’s do that. Ooo another baby! Hi lets be friends. Ew, you’re coughing. Is that something I can touch? Hey your bottle looks like mine. Ooo cereal! Maybe if I dump the whole thing out into mommy’s purse, I can pick up one to eat! Whee! Hi mom! Hi lady! Hi baby! Ooo TV! Hi Elmo!

It was nonstop. He was on hyper drive to make up for Sunday. I made a fart noise with my mouth a few times and he laughed so hard he got the hiccups. And that was before he decided to make my cheek his new teething toy.

Finally into the office, we find out he has nothing but maybe possibly and perhaps a sinus infection that some Tylenol, saline solution to the nose and some good booger sucking shouldn’t cure.

That’s when I realized, the MGF.

The Mommy Gross Factor

Now that I have been a mother for nine months, I realized the whole world changes. Things that were gross and never spoken are now dinner table topics and as regular as… well, pooping.

The MGF comes and goes—its like people that work well under pressure just have a mechanism that kicks in and they suddenly find grace, peace of mind, and the ability to think clearly when everyone else is frantic and scatterbrained.

MGF includes not even blinking when:

• You get peed on
• You get pooped on
• You catch barf in your hand or hair or whatever
• You step in a puddle and realize that it is one—or all—of the above secretions
• You reach in baby’s mouth to remove whatever he is choking on
• You eat gooey sucked-on cereal pieces when baby tries to put them in your mouth and feed you like you feed him. Sharing is… cute. Slimy. But cute.
• You assume all baby food tastes like what it says it tastes like and you take a big bite in front of your baby to encourage him to eat his and then fake a yummy face and swallow it while your eyes are watering and your stomach is tied in a double knot
• You assume Pedialyte “unflavored” tastes like water and chug the last bit in the bottle—it tastes more like contact solution
• You clean off a dropped pacifier with your mouth
• You wipe away boogers and snot with your hand when you’ve already used all the available tissues and/or wipes
• You realize your gray shirt is supposed to be black
• You submit to getting slimed in the face because you know its an effort at a kiss
• You get drooled on
• You get drooled on in your mouth while playing “super baby”
• You find cereal in your ear
• You find cereal in your armpit
• You realize on Friday your last shower was on Wednesday. Last week