The disease that afflicted Golden Boy has made a belated and therefore unexpected charge through the rest of the family. The Bug started shooting fire from her bottom at day care on Wednesday. Liz had to pick The Bug up and bring her home because the day care provider, Second Mommy, does not put up with that kind of behavior. While The Bug has, thank the Gods, eschewed the vomiting, the flow of fecal water from her anus has been unending. It has become an unbearable burden upon our household. Liz even uttered “I really don’t like her.” Words that haven’t been heard around these parts since before The Bug achieved metamorphosis about eight months ago.
Liz, meanwhile, came down with full blown symptoms on Friday. She heaved her fireworks into her sink in the master bath. Once she went down, the weekend was lost; hardly anyone noticed when I was felled on Saturday. That is how our weekend became awash in vomit and feces.
In truth it has been more than a weekend. In the past ten days I have had to strip my clothing twice because they were soaked in one bodily fluid or another. Friday night I pulled, as she was screaming, The Bug from her crib, without turning on the light, only to discover that she had been literally rolling around in her own shit.
In truth it has been more than ten days. In the past three and a half years I have been peed on, puked on and crapped on. I have been handed handfuls of snot as if it were an empty food wrapper. (“Here, daddy.”) I have found a bottle of expressed breast milk in a diaper bag two weeks after it was put there. I have cursed the female anatomy as I have had to change a blow out diaper around it. I HAVE BEEN THROUGH POTTY TRAINING!
God help me, I have to go through it again.
Dear reader, if you are childless, know this: If and when you have children it will be one of the most disgusting endeavors of your lifetime. It begins with morning sickness and never stops. Forever and ever.
Amen.
