People with kids always think their kids shite don't stink, literally. My whole life I have gagged, almost puked, when someone plopped down their stinky kid and changed a diaper bomb right in front of me.
As I gasped for air, trying to hold back the puke wave, the parent in question would say, "oh, you are so silly! What are you gonna do when YOU have kids?"
I would reply, "I'm having poop-free kids or I'll spew chunks all over their private bits."
And then the line that all parents say to non-parents, "When it's your kid, it's not gross."
That is a lie. A big one. Right up there with giving birth isn't so bad and having your lady garden waxed isn't weird. Dookie stinks no matter who it's coming from and maybe especially if it's coming from my kids because no matter what we feed them it comes out ham-chili.
Though I haven't vomited on my kids, I've come real close. Like the time Sam covered me in explosive diarrhea and I almost passed out.
Or like last night when Sam threw up her spaghetti everywhere and I kept stepping in it while trying to clean it up. I kept looking for noodles on the floor, but couldn't locate them until my barefoot squished down on the cold, sticky, sick noodles.
Oh, and the smell! Sweet and sour stomach acid covering sheets, rugs, baby dolls, my kid! It's in these moments, picking half-digested food out of Sam's hair, I doubt my commitment to motherhood. Gag.