Today I went to the pool for a swim. I was looking forward to getting in a nice 3000 yard workout and then heading to the grocery store for a quick trip before I had to get Noah home and on the bus by 12:15 (have I told you how much half day kindergarten just kills my schedule???).
I swim at the Y, and this morning I was swimming in the single lap lane while a group of kids on spring break played on one side of the pool and on the other a swim lesson for a group of 3 year olds was going on. I had gotten through my warm-up and about 800 yards of my main set and I heard the shrill whistle of the lifeguard. Dread sliced through me because I know what that sound means.
Sure enough, I look up and one of the little kids had swallowed some water and then spit it back up in the pool. Technically, it was throw up, so the protocol is to clear the pool and then shock it with super doses of chlorine.
And then I absolutely horrified myself by saying, out loud, "I don't see what the big deal is. It's just a little throw up."
How did I turn into this person that isn't even grossed out by throw up. In the pool. That I am currently swimming in and sometimes accidentally swallow the water of? (Seriously, I know you do it too, so don't even go there.)
And then I realized, being the mother of two kids has evolved my gross tolerance level. What used to be absolutely disgusting is now just sort of everyday. It would be like if you ate rich chocolate cake every night for dessert, after a while it would just be boring.
Except I'm not talking about rich chocolate cake, I'm talking about bodily fluids and functions...also, I don't think I would ever get sick of rich chocolate cake, so that is just a really bad example. Moving right along...
I mean, seriously, after you have to clean poop up off a bedroom floor, how gross is a teeny tiny bit of throw up in an already over-chlorinated pool? The other day I had to clean the dried boogers off of Noah's wall beside his bed. The words, "do you need a tissue?" come out of my mouth more than I would like to admit, and if I have to explain that washing your hands yesterday probably was too long ago one more time...well let's just leave it at that. Bloody noses are so routine, my children only tell me if they got blood on their clothes. Last month I found 5 pair of streaky underwear stuffed behind Noah's dresser because he didn't want to get in trouble for not wiping good enough. (Somehow his logic isn't quite advanced enough to realize that a better solution than hiding his dirty underwear would be TO WIPE HIS BUTT BETTER!) Living in a house with three males, I have become so accustomed to the sound of burping and farting followed by insane amounts of laughing, it doesn't even faze me anymore. I hardly even make an effort to show my disgust, not at the sound itself, but at the rudeness of the act. They have worn me and all of my shiny edges down.
Now I am just a mother who doesn't even mind swimming in the pukey pool.
What's next? ;)