Disgusting Diva

Is it wrong to be disgusted by your own child?  Well, too bad, because I am.  Meike has been super uber gross lately and I've been having to exert some tremendous self control to not say anything that will result in her having therapy-worthy self-image issues by the time she's five.

She's been peeing in her pants fairly regularly.  The degree of peeing varies, but the smell is pretty constant.  She either accumulates small drops throughout the day or full out pees on the couch while screaming at me that she doesn't have to go to the bathroom.  It seems like every time I pick her up, my hand/hip/arm gets wet.  It's really gross.  We're currently investing in Sam's Club-size carpet cleaning products.  I'm considering plastic clothes (for me).

Meike's nails grow at an alarming rate.  And with them, an accumulation of an insane amount of grime.  I have to clean her nails out every day so that she doesn't look homeless.  Now I understand why Jonathan is so neurotic about Meike putting her hands near Luke's mouth.

For some reason, Meike has recently started drooling.  When she laughs, she drools.  While I'm brushing her teeth, she drools.  While she's sleeping, she drools.  This wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for her horrific breath.  Her father and I have actually had conversations about it.  You do not want to be within a 5-ft radius of her mouth when she wakes up in the morning.  Seriously, you don't.  I made a few dentist appointments for her while I was pregnant, because there was enough making me nauseous as it was.  But, for whatever reasons, we kept having to cancel or reschedule.  I promise to get on that.  If only to spare Luke, who has Meike in his face 24/7.

In addition to all of these cuddle-inducing characteristics, Meike has been maxing out her annoying quotient.  She has apparent developed some crazy version of fibromyalgia that involves every single part of her body.  You cannot do anything to that girl without her whining about it hurting.  I should probably contact a medical journal, because it gets even weirder.  Meike's terrible disease intensifies near bedtime.

Cleaning her nails hurts.  Cutting her nails hurts.  Holding her hand over the sink hurts.  Being wiped with a wet washcloth hurts, with our without soap.  The blue bubblegum toothpaste hurts her teeth, which requires her to spit it all over my hands while I'm brushing them.  Putting her shirt on hurts her head.  Putting her socks on squishes her toes.  All blankets that are not pink assault her skin.  Washing her hair, conditioning her hair, and, of course, brushing her hair all elicit high-pitched screams.  The list goes on.  She's going to need a morphine drip by next week at this rate.  Or I am.