Your children are gross, and I want nothing to do with them.
I know how harsh that sounds. Before I had kids, I would have said, “Kids are beautiful! Sure, they get a little snotty and have dirt under their fingernails, but that’s just kids being kids.”
Now that I have children of my own, I can say with total confidence that little ones are little more than walking, talking bacteria-mongers.
Back to my original comment: Your children are gross.
Mine are, too, though.
In fact, when looking back on my family’s medical history, I can safely conclude that my kids are probably way more gross than yours.
Because I have no shame, I’ll share with you a sampling of the disgusting things we have somehow survived:
Impetigo. Every gastrointestinal infection known to man. Lice. Weird, hernia-like swelling. Pink eye. Inexplicable rashes that come and go at will. Worms.
Did you catch that last one? Worms. I’m not talking about the family dog. A human in my family had worms.
The pediatrician had obviously attended “Breaking Wormy News to Unstable Mothers 101,” because he told me that in addition to being pretty harmless, worms are actually a sign that my child is ingesting good bacteria.
“In countries where there are more incidents of worms, there are far fewer people with allergies,” he assured me while shaking my hand good-bye.
Sorry, doc, but there is no way to spin this. My kid eats dirt and contracts worms and will forever be a little different in my eyes. Also, I saw you reach for the hand sanitizer in a panic as soon as we got done shaking hands. Nice try.
In the past 12 months, we have been overloaded with childhood afflictions. Disproportionately so, in my opinion, unless everyone else is just wise enough to keep their mouths shut about the abhorrent goblins lurking in their children’s systems.
I know that we practice good hygiene in our house. I’m not a mom who bleaches every surface that could come into contact with a human, but we aren’t devoid of cleanliness. We wash hands. We bathe. We launder our clothes and wash our dishes.
This leads me to the conclusion that if my kids still bring home these germs, your kids can, too.
And that means that I think your kids are gross.
Please don’t be offended. Clearly, I’m in the same boat as you, though I kind of wish our boat had a germ-proof divider between our families so as to prevent the spread of infectious disease.
Thanks to the incidents of the past year, your kid has been transformed from a sweet, chubby-cheeked miracle of nature into a slimy, grimy monster spewing strands of remedy-resistant sicknesses. I feel like I can see particles escaping your child’s eyes or mouth or nose, floating through the air and going right onto my children.
I never used to be this way. I used to scoff at parents who would demand that anyone who wanted to even look at their child had to bathe in hand sanitizer.
Four years and a million diseases later, and now I’m like, “Can I purchase Purell in bulk on Amazon? And will they do same-day delivery?”
Your kids are gross, and the sooner you accept it, the sooner we can start shopping for toddler-size hazmat suits so we can resume our play dates. I have petitioned my son’s preschool teachers to implement a child-in-bubble learning program, and I think their eye-rolling was actually their way of saying they are searching their brains for a way to make it happen.
Kids are disgusting, and my house is under quarantine, and we may never have contact with the outside world again. Good-bye carefree childhood, hello rubber gloves and face masks.