The Ick-ometer
Since I had my baby, nothing much can phase me, claims Carrie Linder.
Have you noticed that when you have a baby, something happens to your Ick-ometer?

It’s as if it suddenly gets switched off. I mean, things you’d usually balk at, like spit and puke, don’t phase you in the slightest anymore.

Take my experience today for example…

I went to Pick n Pay this morning (something that in itself might not be a major achievement for most part of the population, but even after 7 months of having a baby I applaud myself if I leave the house and Do Something Productive).

Joseph was absolutely fine in that pram with the car seat thingie attached (good invention) for about oh, say, 3 and 1/2 minutes. After which, he started niggling and eh eh eh-ing.

Now I knew it was going to be a long shop (I'm hosting my sister's surprise bridal shower on Saturday night - I do hope she doesn't read this column or else it won't be much of a surprise) so I had to keep him entertained somehow.

I once read an article about the pros and cons of feeding your children in supermarkets. Hello? I can't think of a single con. If it kept Jo quiet and entertained, I'd give him the actual trolley to chew on.

What the baby ate

So half an hour later - which is a very, very, very long time to spend in one shop if you have a baby - Jo had eaten:
  • half a baby rusk
  • most of a piece of dried mango
  • a third of a cracker bread
  • and he'd sucked off the outer layer of a dried pear
I had eaten:
  • the other half of a baby rusk
  • the rest of a (very soggy) piece of dried mango
  • two thirds of a cracker bread (one third of which was partially digested and regurgitated)
  • and what I think (hope) was the rest of his dried pear.
I only ever manage to find already-used tissues in my bag, but today there wasn’t even one of those in sight to wrap the sticky mess in.

So short of making a pile of half eaten food on one of the shelves, or storing the remnants on my person (didn’t have pockets – in my bra?), the only logical thing to do was to eat his leftovers.

Gross? Nah. It scores about a 1 on the Ick-ometer.

What grosses you out about babies? Or is your Ick-ometer broken too?

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