You know what’s disgusting? Children.
You know what’s disgusting by association? My entire life.
I just scrubbed pee off of the bathroom wall. How my 2-year-old managed to get it higher than the height of his head is quite impressive and I’m sure that gift will win him bets in his teen years. But I don’t ever want to know about that.
I don’t want to know when other people are constipated.
I don’t want to have bloody slobber wiped all over my shoulder because my baby son busted his lip while crawling too fast on the linoleum.
On some days, I manage to forget how gross my life is–I clean things up quickly and work the nasty (and I don’t mean the funny/slutty kind) into the sweet and cuddly and it all seems worth it.
On other days, like today, I am so grossed out by my offspring that I am seriously considering going back to work (as a public high school teacher, mind you) just so I will be around cleaner people. That is sad.
I will never be able to touch that bathroom again until after I’ve coated the entire thing in Lysol. Thus far, I have scrubbed the toilet, the floor, and the bathtub. I’ve cleaned the sink and the walls. The walls, for pete’s sake. I’m glad I had the foresight to use washable paint in there.
I find it disheartening to realize that the only time I will not have to deal with others’ disgusting messes are the few years between when they all move out and before they start having their own children. That is at least 17 years from now, so I won’t be holding my breath.
Speaking of holding my breath, what is that smell? Ohhhh, it’s one of my children. How surprising. Gotta go change a diaper.