Three Snakes, Two Fountains, and a Trip to the Zoo

When Oliver was little - I mean, younger than he is now- I found myself inside moments that caused me to think, "wow, if I'm really doing this, I must be mother." One of them was when I was suctioning the poor little boy's nose. It wasn't all that stuffy, but there was a giant white booger looming obviously in his left nostril and it was bugging me. Yes, it was bugging me- not him. I went to work with the nasal aspirator/bulb syringe/booger sucker or whatever you want to call it, and after several attempts that stubborn snot ball finally sat at the entry of his nose. I picked it out, and stared at it. A booger, somebody else's booger, on my finger. I almost forgot to cringe. "I am now officially a Mom," I said to the booger.

Another motherly-hazing activity took place when I gave up grabbing clumsily around for a diaper when Oliver peed during a diaper change. Mistake, mistake, mistake. You will never get that diaper, and get it opened, in time. And, diapers are expensive. My cheaper solution is quite handy. Because it's my hand. Seriously, why not? It's right there anyway. It's not too often when Oliver chooses to pee during his diaper change, and I have come to get over the grossness of getting my hand wet for protecting better things, i.e. clean outfits on both me and Oliver, blankets, a wood floor, you get the gist. The first time I cought that little fountain in my bare hands, I said to myself, "I am now officially a Mom. Again."

So I should have been prepared for today. Michael and I were getting Oliver ready for the zoo. When I changed Ollie's diaper, my preparatory hand-covering stance proved handy for a quick little yellow stream, which Michael chuckled at. I almost started smiling, too, until it came back, full force. The kid could have had a six-pack the night before with how much he was peeing. And so, with my hand covering his little manhood, I collected the pee and began to clean up, a now-belly-laughing Michael watching over my shoulder. Not wanting to lay Oliver back down in his now-christened changing table, I put him and his naked little butt on the bed. Where he proceeded to poop. I'm assuming at this point in your reading that if you had been eating, you've now put your food down. Don't pick it back up just yet. Michael yelled, "Oh, oh, the snake, the snake!" He was referring to a simliar diaper-changing incident, which fortunatly did not involve me but did involve Michael, Oliver, and a lot of poop. A lot of poop which in its expulsion, resembled, well, I needn't explain further. When I resolved the situation on the bed swiftly and with good poise if I do say so myself, Oliver decided to get caught up for the last two days in which he did not decide to poop. Michael hopped around the room, laughing to tears. "Oh, man," he said when he could catch his breath. "This is going to hereby be known as the day of the three snakes, two fountains, and a trip to the zoo!"

Exceedingly grateful that these incidents occurred in our home and not in a public bathroom somewhere, I cleaned up the evidence and we headed for the zoo, where Oliver said "ooh" to the fish, and braved the approaching Siberian Tiger who paced inches away.

Okay, so he slept through the tiger exhibit, but I'm still calling him brave. And while I'm at it, I'm calling myself brave, too. Officially, a brave mother.