In the past five months, I have been pooped on, vomited on, and spat on. I have continued to wear pants soaked with another person's pee for a good three hours after the deed occurred, simply because I knew if I put on different pants they would just be besotted with some other bodily fluid. And once, while holding the baby over my head in the classic airplane pose, she vomited directly into my open mouth.
I was prepared, through years of bad sitcoms with babies tacked on at the end as a desperate ratings grab, for this sudden onslaught of excretions. But what I did not really expect was my total okayness with it. I gave up on burp cloths after the first day or two of Addie's life, too addled with exhaustion or fear of squeezing the baby too hard, a la Lenny's rabbit, to remember to keep one handy. It was what it was: I was going to reek of spoiled milk and pale urine for the foreseeable future.
Tonight, Addie blew a raspberry for the first time-- not just your run of the mill bubble blowing, but a full-on, pursed lip buzzing, leaving my face slicked with a patina of spit. And instead of being grossed out, or running for the washcloth, I just grinned. Because it's really hard to be disgusted by anything that comes from someone so cute. Not that her shit doesn't stink-- just that it's hers.
So gross but true. I had a share of that myself. I can also remember when my baby cries in public and the people around starts to stare. It's quite an experience but fun. The only thing I hate during my pregnancy was going through the morning sickness weeks, the rest of it is very beautiful.
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