Name that Substance

           Can you guess this stain?

I feed the adorable, cuddly six month old her second bottle for the day. She smiles as I talk to her, and her smile causes mine to broaden.  I watch the little eight month old bounce around happily in the exersaucer. His life is simple and joyful. The infants shine their light of joy into the room, and it brightens the mood.

Wait… what’s that smell?

Before I can find the culprit who caused the smell, I must first burp this baby I fed. A nice quiet burp is what I hope for. As projectile spit up flies onto my shirt and into the ends of my hair, reality sets in. I call for help as spit up must be cleaned up, and I still have to find that smell. It can’t be the sweet little bundle bouncing around in the exersaucer, can it? I quickly change the baby who has spit up, while the other teacher is on all fours using bleach water to clean the remainder of the spit up that did not land on my shirt. I walk over to the exersaucer and see it oozing out of his diaper, onto the exersaucer, and up his back. How do I remove him without getting covered in feces? Very carefully.

I hold him out, away from me, but smiling and talking to him the entire time. I make it to the changing table where the other teacher has a display of wipes, clean clothes, and a fresh diaper waiting for me. I lay him down, and there it is… I didn’t make it out in the clear. It’s on my wrist, and I’m dying inside. I get him wiped off and cleaned up. The day carries on. All is well.

At the end of the day, I cannot wait to peel out of the stained clothes I wear. They are covered with more bodily functions than most people can imagine. If infants are like this, can you imagine the potty training room?

Luckily, once the messes are cleaned up, the babies become precious cooing, tiny humans again. You forget the chaos, change your clothes, and laugh about it later.

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