Month 16: Tub Torpedo

There’s no way around it: being a mom means dealing with gross stuff. I knew this going into it. And I’m not a gal who likes gross. From the moment I got pregnant I was bombarded with icky words like mucous and discharge and placenta. And the birth itself? Just yuck, people. Y-U-C-K. (I still can’t believe they offered me a mirror to watch the horror show myself. No thanks, playing the starring role is enough for me!)

And newborns, as everyone knows, do little more than pee and poop and spit up. Gross, but not that big a deal. (Except to some people.) Yet in spite of all my exposure to extreme grossness in the past year, I encountered a new level of nastiness the other night: the dreaded tub poop.

Now, I have been warned of this phenomenon by other moms. It’s even happened to C., who usually gives Miles his baths. I’m actually shocked that I’ve avoided it this long.

But no, that fateful evening, the baby stopped splashing, stood up, gave a telltale grunt and … the rest is just too gory to go into. But why stop now? You know what they say about, um, "stuff" hitting the fan? Well it’s worse when it hits the water. It immediately starts to dissolve and scatter in every direction. I swooped Miles out of that tub like I was rescuing him from the Titanic. Mayhem ensued. Gags were stifled. Powerful disinfectants were administered after the offending party was put to bed.

So now baths are back to being solely Dad’s domain. Isn’t it bad enough I went through childbirth? I can’t deal with this kind of carnage.

In other news, I found myself in the very unfamiliar position of being the only mom in a group recently. I was having lunch with an old friend and some of her new friends. Mostly sophisticated career women, dressed in skirts and heels even on a weekend. I was SO out of my element. I considered my leather flip-flops dressing up.

I noticed that interest in mom-world was limited to my baby’s age and gender. Anything beyond that and eyes glazed over, instantly. Understandable. But quite a change from the hour-long debates about naps and strollers that I’m used to. Thank goodness for the one pregnant chick in the group or I’d have had nothing to talk about. Sad, maybe. Reality, definitely. They’re just lucky I didn’t launch into the story about my son’s bathtime bombshell.

TIP O’ THE WEEK: In an egregious oversight, I forgot an important Mommy Award last week -- Most Pioneering Mommy: My Very Own Mom, Gram2Miles. She played a key role in a landmark case concerning women’s rights in the ‘70s, when she was fired from her teaching job when she got pregnant with my brother, even though she was married. Her case was taken to federal court, where her employer was charged with discrimination. The ruling allowed other teachers to get paid maternity leave. This was before the Internet was invented or I’d include a link. ;) Love you, Mom, you rock!