When You Find Out It’s Not Guacamole
As a mom to young children you get used to certain things. Unidentified goo under your fingernails, matted, unkempt hair, hairy armpits, legs and Oh My God Don’t Even Think That Your Bikini Area Will Be Properly Groomed.
In fact, you’re never exactly sure when you last bathed.
And we mostly accept these things as part of the job.
Because of these perks of motherhood our gag reflexes train themselves for anything. Nothing bothers us anymore.
This is true for me except for this one time.
It was a few years ago when my son was nearing his first birthday. My husband and I and our brood went to our favorite Mexican restaurant. My son was busy crawling over me, not at all interested in sitting in his high chair. This was not an unusual occurrence. I’ve pretty much had kids climbing on me for the last 16 years. Anyway, after a while my husband points to my WHITE shirt and says, “You have guacamole on your boob.”
I look down and see what appears to be guacamole.
And then I remember I never ate the guacamole.
Horror washes over my face as I practically toss the baby in his direction and yell, “THAT’S NOT GUACAMOLE!”
It was poop.
I had poop on my boob.
And as soon as my nose became aware of the smell, my gag reflexes kicked in.
PSA Of The Day: When you start gagging in a restaurant the people around you begin to worry. And then they look to see what YOU’RE eating so they won’t order what you got–assuming you’re gagging from the food and not the fact that you’re covered in green baby diarrhea.
My husband? Was frozen. It became clear I would have to deal with this situation by myself. I grabbed the little baby poopy-pants and headed toward the door. Poop was oozing out the sides of his diaper and dropping on the floor of the Mexican food restaurant like little poop bombs.
Meanwhile he was waving to the horrified onlookers as if he were a part of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.
It was awesome.
I managed to lift the hatch on my SUV and carefully place the Human Shit Machine on his back. He wiggled and wrestled and tried to break free from my hold on him. There was poop. EVERYWHERE.
Somehow I manage to peel off the poop-covered onesie and I can’t remember the number of wet-wipes I used, but it’s in the ballpark of eleventy-million.
Finally. He was clean and freshly diapered. Me on the other hand? Well, let’s just say no one wanted to sit near me on the drive home.
The best part of the story is this. My husband’s answer to clothes covered in poop? Throw them in the garbage bin outside the restaurant.
Yeah. We don’t eat there anymore.
Oh what a great story! I have an 11 month old so I know these moments are on my way! Thanks for sharing!
OH God this is the epitome of awful. Totally tops my story…the time when it WAS, thankfully, guacamole. We took my son to a Mexican restaurant when he was 11 months old, and he loved the guacamole for approximately 5 minutes. Then it came back up all over the place. The waiter was really young and had no idea of what to do with a barfing kid, but if I recall correctly we just cleaned up the mess and had our dinner. Gag reflex…what gag reflex?!
Aren’t you lucky you didn’t have to taste it first to know for sure? Eeeeewwwww…
One time when my daughter was a baby, my husband fed her kiwi’s and then left for work. You know what? Kiwi poop looks like pureed kiwi (still with the seeds) and smells like vomit and cat pee. I saved him all three of those vile diapers when he got home to show him what he had left me with. Nobody ate kiwi at our house again until the youngest kid was five.
bellawriter´s last blog ..Holidays!
I was sure you were going to say you grabbed a chip and ate it! Babies are pretty gross, they really really are. Mine is 3 and still manages to gross me out on a regular basis. Not as much as when he was a baby though :)
Sandy S´s last blog ..Life with an Alcoholic Parent- part 3
Yet more reasons NOT to have kids. So glad I’m fixed.
Similar thing happened to us at a restaurant full of hipster baby-haters. After a very squirmy, fussy meal, husband picked up H out of his highchair, looked down at his forearm, and looked at me with a really freaked out look. There was poop ALL OVER his forearm, like a good 6 inch smear of it. And then I see that H has poop on EVERY ARTICLE OF CLOTHING and all up the back of his diaper. An entire tub of wipes later we left, with H wearing nothing but a clean diaper and a pair of baby Tevas.
The Sweetest´s last blog ..Touching Rays
That was hilarious, as a dad of three daughters I have seen my share of poop machines. But your description was well told, good1.