Momma never said there'd be days like this

I have a job, a husband, two cats and a dog. I know messy. I know limited time to clean or keep clean. I know cats throwing up - deliberately - on carpet. I know a dog with colitis and poop the consistency of oatmeal that I have to pick up every day. I know that no matter how much we try, a layer of pet fur is simply part of our décor. I've cleaned out hamster cages, hermit crab cages, lizard cages and way too many fish bowls.

But nothing prepared me for this: I also have a 14-month old son, the G-man.

And this, dear friends, is like nothing I've ever encountered.

For starters, I've checked every one of those stupid "your baby needs all these things from our store or it will die in its first two minutes" registry checklists and not one of them included what may be the most important thing to get you through the first few years of life: a hazmat suit. I'm not saying it has to be a fancy Pottery Barn one with a pattern name like Laurel and 16 matching accessories (including fire extinguisher, tortoiseshell goggles and curtains). A simple, functional omigod-that-just-touched-me suit would suffice.

For those of you that knew my pre-baby life, you already understand that I was worried about "baby goo" touching me. They all leak, out of every part, it seems. I cringed at the thought of drool on my clothes or worse yet, my skin. I frantically tried to find how to guarantee I wouldn't have a baby that even thought of spitting up. I even SERIOUSLY considered stocking up on vinyl gloves for all of the diaper changes. So it would have been nice if any of you had mentioned these daily activities would be the least of my problems.

Constant spitting up? Check.

Pee on the wall? Check.

The carpet? Check.

The dresser? Check.

Me? Check.

Projectile vomiting? Check.

Snot & drool running everywhere? Check.

A kitchen floor that resembles a pig trough? Check.

A finger that first goes in his nose, then my mouth? Check.

One in MY nose, then my mouth? Check. (and yes, it's still his finger)

Formula stains on pretty much everything (sofa, chairs, bed, clothes)? Check.

There's more, but you get the picture. You may have noticed I did not mention one item and I'm not going to jinx myself by saying it, but to those of you who have had to cut the clothes off of your children rather than pull them up over their head, I feel for you.

For the most part, I was a passive player in this game of yuck. However, when solid foods arrived and I won the lottery of doing most of the feedings, I became an integral part of the dance. 

I have often wondered why I have yet to invest in a mealtime tarp. Not for the floor, chair, table or baby (although they could certainly all use one), but for me. No matter where G-man is, his food hits me. He can be at Parent's Day Out and I still end up with a splatter of lentils at lunch (he's either got a great arm, great aim or both). Even food that seems mess-free ends up on me. Just this evening, my shoulder sported bits of veggie dog that somehow bounced up from the floor when his plate went down. That's determination.

The rest of my day was just as typical: a bottle carried upside-down through the living room; potato pancakes in both of our hair; endless tissues gamely trying to keep up with the snot-fountain masquerading as his nose; the discovery that the sippy cup lid does not stay on when said cup, filled with dark liquid, is dropped from a booster chair; the sensation of my finger going through the wipe in a delicate situation; being able to solidify my position as a human napkin when he coughed in my arms with a mouth full of banana smoothie; and that was all before noon.

So now you know the inspiration for the name of this blog. I hope that I can spare new moms the shock of what's to come and in lieu of the hazmat suit, get to Costco NOW and stock up on wipes. They come 1000/box and that will last you...12 days.