Reader Discretion Advised

Parenting is not for the faint-hearted. Neither is this blog post, so if you have a weak stomach (or if you aren't a parent yet but think you want to be), skip over this one and come back next week. Read on if you're tough, but not while you're eating lunch...

Recently, I was covered in poop and throw up before the clock even struck 6am. Some days are just like that. No big deal; you just toss in a load of hot laundry and start making the peanut butter toast. Any mom knows this. Charlie has been a puker since the day he was born. The first time we tried the pacifier, he retched and vomited. Now if he's ticked off that he's ready to get up but we don't fully appreciate his 5am alarm, he makes sure we pay attention. Oh yeah, mom? Here it comes! Two weeks ago, Charlie had a nasty case of diarrhea (that might be the first time I've ever written that word. I literally had to Google it since "diahria" didn't look right). It was so bad that even though we double diapered him, it managed to slip out of a leg hole and shoot down his pants with a "plop" sound on the hard wood. I realized at that moment that the side of my body I'd been carrying him on was slimed. I changed my clothes, but will admit that the day before, I didn't. Just got a wet wash cloth and went on my way.

Now we're on constant turd-alert. Madeline has mastered using the toilet, but doesn't always remember to flush. And she loves to sneak upstairs and use the guest bathroom; sometimes days go by before we discover her little surprises. Before she was toilet trained, I was changing Madeline's Number Two diaper after just laying Charlie down to sleep for his morning nap. I started dry heaving uncontrollably as I worked over her. Sidenote: This is a problem I have, which most often presents itself in public restrooms. I wonder if Charlie got his killer gag reflex from me? Regardless, I was scaring the heck out of Madeline as tears streamed down my cheeks. I couldn't stop midway through the task at hand, but couldn't even speak I was retching so hard. Meanwhile, I could hear Charlie growing hysterical in his crib upstairs, so I finished cleaning Madeline's bottom, did a fly-by barf in the kitchen sink, then ran upstairs to grab the little guy. As soon as I picked him up, he puked all down the front of me. I ripped off his clothes and mine, then realized he'd been so upset because his diaper was full too.

All that in a span of about three minutes.

And let's face it, when you aren't covered in bodily fluid (cringe), you're probably covered in peas or squash or liquefied crackers. This job is messy; sometimes even nasty. It's easy to glorify my corporate marketing days when I sipped coffee in three inch heels, wore pearls, led meetings and earned bonuses. But then I remember the pressure and deadlines and long hours in the office -- no job is perfect. And even the messy stuff has a flip side. It's hands-on, active love. Something as simple as changing my babies' diapers -- literally cleaning their soft skin and making them comfortable again -- is providing basic care to a helpless creature.

Well, on that note, Charlie just woke up with a load in his pants. Duty calls...