Babies'R'Gross

By the time Khan was born, we’d amassed enough baby clothes to outfit an army. An army of babies. Which would actually be pretty useless, if you think about it.
I was aghast. It was too much; they didn’t fit in his dresser, or his closet. So many onesies and tiny pants and socks and little hats, all for one baby? Ridiculous.
He’d never wear them all!

What I didn’t count on was the fact that babies are completely and totally disgusting. I learned quickly that if Khan didn’t puke on it, he peed on it, and if he didn’t puke or pee on it, he pooped on it. This kid has an amazing ability to pee around his diaper, no matter the brand or size, cloth or disposable. And when he was really little, he made that very liquid-y breast milk poopie that managed to leak out of every diaper we tried (we were warned, after a fashion; The Scientist claims the first time he changed Khan’s diaper in the hospital, the kid peed all the way across the room. I was, unfortunately, higher than a hippie at Woodstock, so I missed it).

Combined with the diaper problem, Khan had a serious spitting up thing the first few months of his life. Not projectile vomiting or anything, but he threw up a lot. His day wasn’t complete until he puked in my hair at least once.
So Khan changed clothes more often than Lady Gaga at the Grammys. Three times a day, on average.

Finally the spit up abated a bit, to be replaced by long strings of clear, teething-related drool. Around the same time we began giving him pureed baby food, so the liquid poopie began to solidify a little.

Then he started to mobilize. With all the rolling and twisting and tumbling, Khan began puking again. Only this time, it wasn’t white milk-vomit. It was orange (sweet potatoes), greenish (peas) or yellow (squash). And with the introduction of real food, his poopie started to smell. A lot.

The spit up tide has ebbed a bit, but now Khan eats solid food, it’s more interesting. Today’s was blackberry-purple with tiny chunks of mandarin oranges. At least now he’s puking in complimentary colors.

Now he’s reached the grand stage of feeding himself, more or less, things are grosser than ever. Watching him eat pasta is enough to make me lose my appetite (I’m not complaining; maybe I can finally lose some of this baby weight). I’ve cleaned chunks of bananas off the wall, cereal out of the carpet, and applesauce off the cat. Since Khan discovered food, he’s come to believe that everything solid is food. I’ve removed from his mouth rocks, cat food, paper, and other kids’ toes. And these days, he only wants to hug me if he’s been eating (and smearing) something incredibly sticky and staining.

I know it won’t end once he’s mastered utensils. Khan is a boy. There will be ice cream drips and skinned knees and crushed worms in his pockets and mud in his hair. And someday he’s going to throw up a half-eaten hot dog in my lap.

But hey, it’s true what people say: you don’t care how gross a kid is, as long as it’s your kid. You know he smells, but it doesn’t matter. Most stains will come out (except breast milk poopie stains. Those are lethal). Oatmeal crusted in your arm hair will eventually wash out. Someday Khan will learn to wipe his own bottom and wash his own hands. Maybe I’ll even miss having puke in my hair.

Maybe.