Recently, a group of my friends who are parents and I were engaged in a conversation about the trials and tribulations of parenthood. They were warning me about all the unpleasant situations that they’ve encountered in child rearing. Like a barroom storytelling contest, the fish got bigger and bigger, and I could’ve sworn the room took on a little atmosphere of “Let’s see who can gross out Diane the most.”
Sure their tales were pretty yucky. There’s Marcus’ story about when his son accidentally vomited into Marcus’ mouth. Then there’s Darin, who has a bunch of hilarious-in-retrospect stories (or hilarious if you aren’t him) about his two boys. The time the older boy vomited on his bed but was too tired to do anything about it so he slept in it overnight, only for Darin to discover in the next morning. Or when the younger toddler ran around the house diaperless, emitting doo doo pellets that rolled into odd corners for Darin to find like an Easter egg hunt. Another friend talked about picking the hair lice out of her kid’s scalp, which had infected the whole family before the lice were discovered. Fun.
But you know, I’m not as prissy as you might think. I know; the stereotype exists that newscasters are as one dimensional as the characters on Anchorman. High maintenance, clothing-obsessed, vainglorious, low IQ, news puppets. Just the other day an acquaintance was surprised when I said manicures are a waste of time, because surely, she thought, I’m completely into my appearance. Another new friend admitted he sized me up from afar for a while to determine if I was some plasticky TV bimbo.
Yes, I have seen lots of vacant people come through the newsroom during my career, giving fuel to that prejudice. I know an anchor who thinks Condoleezza Rice is a culinary variation on jambalaya. But I’m not one of them. Beneath this shiny veneer of makeup and hairspray is a person not afraid to get her hands dirty.
I’ve done all kinds of odd, unglamorous things in my life. The weirdest task was assisting with embalming at Moanalua Mortuary, my husband’s place. This included putting the makeup on the, uh, clients. Hey, I figured, of all the employees, I was best versed in the art of makeup. He was still new at the time and building the company, so I thought I’d help out. (Side note: I’ve come to realize there’s more to fear from the living than the dead.)
All of this dirty work is a good thing insofar as kids are concerned. I have limited experience so far with Olivia. We thought she had a fever once, so we took her temperature anally. She was eight weeks old and her personality range was limited to ‘crying or not crying’, so when we inserted the probe and she got calm, we worried that she liked it.
Baby aside, I’ve got scads of scat experience. I keep Labradors. That should be ‘nuff said, but I’ll elaborate anyway. First of all, the dogs are mine, not my husband’s, so the poop patrol falls exclusively to me. One hundred thirty pounds of dog can generate a lot of matter. Secondly, for those of you who have dogs, you know they eat all sorts of odd things, which then can get stuck in the intestinal tract on the way out.
Things I’ve pulled out their butt: crud-encrusted used feminine products, or random branches which they like to chew, ingest, and then can’t fully express all by themselves. I’ve examined the feces for worms, and cleaned up massive diarrhea/ vomit/ pee accidents in my living room.
The most disgusting act I’ve performed is an enema on my constipated canine. Seriously. At the time, I lived in a condo, and needed to do this on a grassy area. I did this on the public street because the agent is fast-acting, so I was warned I had ten seconds from insertion to output. Um, wow. (Oh, and since my recognition factor is somewhat high after all these years, if any of you saw me and did a double take, please know I wasn’t entertaining some weird fetish.)
I don’t like gross things, but I can deal with it. This applied to the dogs, and now it’ll hold true for the baby: I have to, because who else will do it? So you know what? Whatever Olivia’s got in store, no problem. Bring it.
