Jaws Poop (and Other Grooming Scares)!

What’s up with little boys and grooming? It’s a good thing Alex was born with lots of testosterone because he could NEVER handle women saying nasty things about his funky feet in Vietnamese during an overdue pedi.

Is it just me who feels like the joke’s on me at the nail place? Add a wax into the mix, and the banter becomes even more animated, like they’re talking over Ellen DeGeneres telling her best joke ever because what’s in front of them is even funnier. B*tch better leave me one hell of a tip if she’s going to show up twenty minutes before closing with that sh*t going on.

Anyway, I’ve already had a tough day getting my little guy to represent. Tougher than dealing with the traitors talking trash while I “relax” at the nail place.

It started with his daily shower with Daddy (Alex will not allow my poor husband shower alone), which turns into a bath at the end. This is the only clean ritual my son loves, but he’s managed to make it dirty. Yeah, now he’s into taking a sh*t in the tub. Third day in a row! Good times. This morning, the log was so big (cue the Jaws music), it started swimming towards him and scared even more crap out of him. It was more dramatic than your average crazy-stalker-chasing-damsel-in-distress scene on Lifetime Television. I scooped him out quick (I kind-of felt the thing was coming at me, too, but maintained my Mommy composure so I didn’t frighten him even more) with Alex shouting, “Poo poo! P-U! Poooooooo Poooooooo! Peeee-Uuuuuuuu!” Classic.

The Jaws sh*t was followed up by an epic diaper change. I didn’t feel an earthquake during a diaper change when he was an infant, and, unfortunately, nothing’s different. Oh, except now he morphs into a jaded Rockette, mercilessly kicking me to fend me off…all because I want to keep his tushie sanitary. Against all odds, he’s still never had a diaper rash, and I have whip lash to prove it.

Outfits? Now that’s a daily joy! If only he didn’t drool, splash in puddles, roll in the mud, color anywhere but on paper, and wear every morsel of food on his clothes I’d gladly keep him in the same outfit. But, really, his stains are a force to be reckoned with, and I pride myself in delivering a sharp dressed little man to play dates–even if it’s torture.

Hair? Unless he’s brushing it himself, he doesn’t like it styled…especially when it’s wet. I can’t imagine him ever getting his hair cut and colored like his Mommy. Good thing he’s genetically programmed like most men to favor the $10 special at the whirly bird barber. And, lucky him, I didn’t marry a man with back or neck hair (I have high standards), so he’ll be in and out in no time.

Teeth? According to a recent study, most toddlers’ teeth are rotting out of their mouths. Sometimes it takes a two-person operation to brush Alex’s chompers (Scott is the dentist and I am the hygenist–hot role play going on here!). He hates it…again, unless he’s brushing them himself (which will cause cavities and a cash withdrawal for his parents). Hell…twice a day (okay, sometimes once if he’s really testing my patience, but don’t tell).

Are all little boys like this? I remember my brother used to turn the water on and fake shower (just wetting his hair) to avoid actually washing himself. Yup, I told on his stinky a$$ when he pissed me off. He also used a fishing rod in his room to hook miscellaneous stuff he wanted on his floor while he was lounging on his unmade bed. OMG. Is this in Alex’s future? (No offense, Adam).

p.s. I’ve received lots of emails from confused readers regarding the Top Mommy Blog voting (click the brown box on the top of your page once a day). Yes, it counts as a vote if you simply click on the brown box at the top of your page even though it doesn’t bring you to a Mommy Dish page. It’s all good. Just click. And click again. Thanks, dolls!