Parenthood is the most disgusting thing ever.
You know what? If you can’t change a diaper bursting with a river of chunky & runny poo, wash your hands, then go right back to eating the beef stew you made for dinner, you simply won’t survive. You’ll starve.
I’ve caught vomit in my hands. I’ve wiped runny noses with my sleeve. I’ve inspected mystery rashes, and I’ve cleaned cups of milk so curdled it’s more solid than liquid.
Nothing has shaken me quite like hearing, “Jill…. Jill! Come here. I think Lowell has worms.”
Needless to say, I did not go there to see. Nope. What if one leapt from his butt cheek and attached itself to my face? Crawled up my nose? No. I made Scott handle diapers all weekend. I’ll take your word for it!
Pinworms. That’s what they are. No doubt, a lovely souvenir from Disney World. THANKS, FLORIDA.
I mean, I couldn’t keep him from sucking on ALL the handrails at Magic Kingdom. You can’t pour hand sanitizer in their mouth, you know. (But someone should really get to work on that breakthrough.)
I just deleted the description from WebMD that I pasted here for you. I’m so sorry for that momentary lapse in judgement. You don’t deserve that.
I’ll just say that one of the symptoms of pinworms is a very itchy butt (I’ll let you imagine why), and you know how when your kids have lice and suddenly you start scratching your head out of fear that you also have them? In my experience, it’s exactly the same when your kid has pinworms, except it’s not your head with phantom empathy itching.
What is my life that this is even a normal thing for me to write on the internet?!
So we’re treating him for it, of course. But also? Treating the whole family because, as it turns out, it’s pretty contagious. I mean, I don’t think anyone else has them, but I’d rather treat everyone than have to go looking for them… in the other places they would be.
So maybe the itching is not… phantom? OMG. No. I just… I’m fine. It’s fine. WE’RE FINE.