Monday, May 6, 2013

No Bodily Fluids for Me, Thanks

I know, I know, its been a while.  I've been lazy lazy lazy.

So, I have been thinking lately that I could totally become a nurse.  My BFF is a nurse, and when we were in college together I couldn't even watch movies with fake blood in them let alone consider dissecting a cadaver.  I got nightmares after I watched Die Hard. 

I feel like I've gotten tougher in my old age, less fearful, more okay with blood and guts (one of my favorite shows is Dexter, take that Die Hard) and I have a great memory for drug names and medical facts, so I think, if I wanted to, which I don't, I could totally become a nurse. 

Switch to a few weeks ago when I agreed to babysit my friends' kids.  I haven't taken care of these kids all that often, but when they were babies, I did watch them a couple of times and every time the youngest would take an enormous shit in his/her diaper.  My own child's diaper/snot/vomit never bothered me, but other kids' junk makes me gag.  But this is before I got tougher, you see.  I'm much tougher now.

So we start the babysitting journey with dinner, during which the youngest, 5, comes out of the bathroom and says, "Hey! My poop is purple!" Luckily Mom and Dad are still there at this point, so they can look at the poop and make the appropriate mental notes (lay off the beet juice.) They leave and we're having a good time, and I've brought Double Stuff Oreos for dessert, and when dinner is over, I get the five year-old to take a shower by telling him he should try to beat the world record for the world's shortest shower.  I want him to take a shower because he keeps saying that he hopes he doesn't have purple poop in his underwear. 

I am not allowed to watch him take a shower, nor would I since I'm just the babysitter, but his sister does and tells him to "just soap up your hand and wash your butt crack."  No purple poop, and the shower was only 53 seconds.  He gets out and doesn't want me to see him naked, so he puts a shoe over his pee pee.  I, of course, take a picture and text it to his parents.  We are laughing at the shoe, and suddenly the middle child, 8, says, "I think I'm gonna throw up."  I respond like a do with my own kid and tell her, "You're probably not going to throw up, but go on over to the toilet just in case."  The poor thing pukes her little guts out.  This is the part where I realize that, tough though I may be, I could never, ever, be a nurse.  I want to go over to her and hold back her hair and rub her back and say soothing things, but I'm too busy trying not to barf myself.  Meanwhile, the 5 year-old is in his little boxer briefs rambling on and on about God knows what.  I have to interrupt him to say, "Give me a minute, your sister is barfing." 

The barfing girl is a real trouper though, and she takes care of business, and decides she is ready for dessert.  I am stupid, so I say, "Okay! Oreos it is!"  We have our dessert, and I put the kids to bed, and little girl whimpers that she is just going to sleep on the floor of the bathroom in case she barfs again.  I say no way, and bring her downstairs with me where we snuggle in on the couch and look at books and magazines.  She ends up puking up the oreos, and I was much better about being there for her.  Not that much better, but a little better.  And somewhere in the middle of all of this purple poo and barf, the dog peed on the rug. 

So, I am crossing nurse off my list of possible things to be when I grow up.  Rock Star is still on there, because you never know, but nurse is off.  As is flight attendant, the reasons for which are also puke related.

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