Ewwwwwwww

* Major note. This post is not for those who gross out easily.

You never want to walk into a room and see your baby daughter eating her own poop. Agggggh. So gross.

It's really bad. Really really bad. And that's taking into account that I shrug off some things (i.e. playing in the toilet, eating dog food, putting their faces up to the clear plastic at a McDonald's playland) that would have jump started the gag reflex just a few years ago. And I worked at a nursing home for many years cleaning up those kinds of messes on old people.

Still. Yuck.

The joys of motherhood.

Carolyn still holds the "Oh my god that is so disgusting" award. When she was about a year and a half, and we still had our cat Duke (we miss you buddy) who used to kill things to earn our respect and love, or so he thought, Carolyn came inches from stuffing a dead mouse into her mouth. Even now I get shivers thinking about that one, and I grew up at a racetrack where my dad killed rats with pitchforks.

On my bright side, I'm going to Chicago for a night sans husband and children. Steve is the best husband, EVER. And he thinks I'm coming home. Silly husband.