G is for Germaphobia...and Gems.

Hi. I'm Lisa and I'm a germaphobe. Card carrying. Phew. It feels good to get that off my chest.

I dislike any manner of germs, but my archnemeses are stomach viruses and food poisoning. Really anything that results in vomiting. I guess that really makes me emetophobic, but whatever. To-may-to, to-mah-to.

I am petrified by the thought of bringing my kids to a big gathering today & then finding out someone there came down with a stomach bug that night. Oh. My. God. We were......exposed!!! Two day quarantine!!! Light meals!! No unnecessary touching!! Just in case!!!

It's terrible & it's debilitating, but it's true.

I wasn't always a germaphobe. It probably started when I was pregnant with Mayhem, our first child. You know how that goes. Every solitary person on the face of the planet seeks you out with their new mommy radar & gives you their two cents. So of course most of that "change" you get is dirty. Don't go near kids with chicken pox. Don't eat deli meat. Don't let dirt get in open cuts. Don't forget to get your flu shot. Don't don't don't. Or you'll get sick & the baby could get sick...or die!!

And it doesn't end once you actually have the baby. Oh no. No no no. It gets worse. Keep the baby's head and ears covered. You're not going to church/movie theater/party with a three-week-old are you? Don't touch the baby unless you just surgically sterilized your hands. Don't let the baby chew on that. Don't come around the baby if you're sick or have been sick in the last 14 years. And so on and so on and so on...

So I'm out of the closet so to speak. That's supposedly the first step to recovery, right? Admitting you have a problem? Um, no. Not so much. It's just an opening for the Hubs to torment me mercilessly by doing things like putting his big toe in his mouth or eating food off the ground. One of his favorite ways to skeeve me out? Watching a show like Kitchen Nightmares or Restaurant Impossible where Gordon Ramsay or Robert Irvine uncover the dirty underbelly of a restaurant and then asking me if I would eat there. Or if the restaurant they're in reminds me of somewhere we've eaten recently. Or by rewinding particularly horrendous parts and having us rewatch to make sure we got the full effect.

My mom cringes whenever we visit. I am the expiration date Nazi. If she ever tells you, "I just got that last week." Check the expiration date. I drive her nuts checking dates, smelling things before reheating or eating, making her tell me when she cooked something so I can see if it's under the maximum four days I allow leftovers to stay in the fridge, figuring out how long a package of deli meat has been opened to decide if it's still okay to eat. Seriously.

I have also become the hand washing Nazi. Did you wash your hands? With soap? Are you sure you washed them really good? Why don't you go wash them again just to make sure.

The hand washing has become particularly virulent now that Mayhem is in school for the first time. He loves to bring all sorts of lovely presents home to us. Mayhem was never sick as an infant or toddler one, because he was breastfed, and two, because he was never really around other kids. He had his first ear infection at four years old. Which he promptly passed on to his four-month-old brother who never had a chance. Mischief is breastfed also, but he is exposed to all kinds of kiddie germs via Mayhem. Poor Mischief has already had the ear infection, strep, and two unknown "childhood viruses" that start with a fever and end with a rash and probably would have killed him 75 years ago but don't really do anything now.

Speaking of presents, that reminds me of this little gem from Mayhem. Since he was an infant he has always rubbed by hair when he was nursing or tired and now he does it when he's upset or falling asleep. We were sitting on the couch together watching tv or a movie or something and he cuddled up on my lap and yawned and started rubbing my hair. He rubbed it for a minute or two and then sat back; looked me angelically in the face; and, as if he were bestowing me with a glorious and noble honor, sighed lovingly and said, "I put a booger in your hair."

Thank you, Sweetie. I love you too.