Pina Coladas and Q-Tips

WARNING: I'm about to overshare.

WARNING: It will be gross.

Still here?

I knew we could be friends.

This very day, I experienced perhaps the nastiest and most bizarre thing I've ever experienced in 18 years of motherhood. And I've experienced some good ones. Like the time I had to pinch one of Tuna's nostrils and hold my hand over her mouth while I blew in the other nostril and shot a slimy, bloody corn kernel out onto my cheek. I was pregnant. I almost vomited. Or the time I had to dig through poo for a week waiting on The Boy to pass a nickel. I don't know why I bothered because he knew when it passed and he dug it out himself. That was fabulous.

Where was I going with that?

Oh yes. Nasty thing. Bizarre. I remember now.

So tonight, I removed a fecal impaction from a guinea pig.

Yes, indeed I did. It was horrific. There was squealing and squirming and Q-Tips involved. (Hey, there's another use for Q-Tips.) Not from the piggie, mind you; from me. No, the pig was fine. He was laid back like he was stretched out in a lawn chair on the beach, toes in the sand, enjoying a pina colada.

I was traumatized. I feel violated. I've seen things I never needed to see. And smelled them. Touched them.

I think I might get sick.

What did this have to do with motherhood, you ask? Well, I wouldn't DO such things if I weren't a mother. Would. Not. But when a sweet child brings you the too-skinny piggie with a tummy ache, you make it better. Because that's what moms do. We sift poo. We remove corn from noses. We clean bums.

I did not get a copy of the job description when I applied for this gig.

I need a pina colada.