This is 3 year-old Dylan’s opinion on things she put in her mouth today.
Cheese Quesadilla: “Very Yummy”
Boogers from her nose: “Yummy”
Wedge of Lemon: “Not good”
Pork Chop: “I don’t like it. Too spicy.”
So just to clarify, Dylan believes her boogers are better than a slice of lemon but not quite as delicious as a cheese quesadilla. Recently, Dylan has really committed herself to investigating her inner nostrils and sampling the contents. So far, she has been quite pleased with the findings. Her mother? Well, she’s completely grossed out. Referring to myself in the 3rd person must be a coping mechanism.
Parenthood often veers into territories that are unquestionably disgusting. A few days ago, Dylan pooped in the potty. Well, that’s a reason to celebrate. Oh wait, put away the party hats. Dylan, in her zest for wiping herself, has filled the toilet with heaps of toilet paper. The empty cardboard roll is the only thing that eventually put the brakes on this mad paper chase. So now, in an effort to prevent clogged pipes, I have to scoop the majority of the toilet paper out of the bowl, while trying to avoid floating excrement. Please. Gag me. With a spoon. With anything.
Poop isn’t even my real nemesis. It’s vomit I truly can’t take. The dreadful smell quickly pervades every nook of our apartment. Luckily, there hasn’t been a stomach virus to contend with in ages. So right now, I’m focused on putting a stop to the nose picking. I’m offering tissues at every opportunity. I’m physically removing her finger from her nostril and then trying to divert her attention to other festive, non-nose related activities. But Dylan is rebuffing my overtures. She is content to pick, inspect and ingest. Not cool Dylan. Not cool.