If you’re easily disgusted, don’t read any further.
Let me start out this rant by saying I love my son. I love him to pieces. I would do anything for him. He’s a sweet kid, wildly creative but easily distracted.
For the last two weeks, I’ve been reminding him to pick up the legos on his bedroom floor. Fast forward to tonight and the following conversation.
Corwin: (stumbles down stairs, looking a little green.) Clean-up on aisle one.
Corwin: I tried to make it to the bathroom…but I chunked on my bedroom floor. I got my retainer out in time though.
Me: (sobbing on the inside) Awesome…
So, clutching paper towels, a plastic bag and a container of clorox wipes I head upstairs to discover that my darling son never picked up his legos like I’d asked. Now, I’m not talking about 50 or even 100 pieces, I’m talking close to 1500. 1500 fucking legos that are now covered in puke. So much that I have to call for paper towel reinforcements and a bucket to put the legos in. I’ve never seen so much puke in my life. Never, and I’m a parent and former child care provider. Honestly, this kid had the coverage of a frat boy after four or five keg stands.
While I’m cleaning up this specfuckingtacular mess, Corwin’s cwtched up in my bed. My beautiful, comfortable bed. All of a sudden, I hear the unmistakable sound of retching child.
Me: Please tell me you didn’t puke in my bed.
Corwin: I’m sorry mama.
Me: (fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck) It’s okay, honey. Just hang out in the bathroom for a bit.
I’ve just spent the last two and a half hours on my hands and knees cleaning puke and washing legos. Now, I’ll be up most of the night doing laundry since he cleverly manged to cover my sheets, my blankets, my quilts and my pillows. Yeah…frat boy…keg stands…epic coverage. That’s the kid I’ve got.