When I was in college I worked for GapKids, which at that time was in its prime and one of the top children’s clothing stores. I’ve written before about how being a mother wasn’t always a life choice that I found endearing. I have a feeling it was my experiences in their stores that laid some of the ground work. On a daily basis I watched mothers cart their children in strollers, often looking ragged as they attempted to run their errands with whiney, tantrum prone toddlers and hungry infants in tow. I was subject to a countless number of melt downs, and while I enjoyed my job and not all the children were angst infested, I was often left with the impression that man, maybe the whole children thing just isn’t worth it.
Putting aside the emotional outbursts, I was also amazed by just how much stuff had to be carted along with the kids: diaper bags, small coolers, toys, blankets, etc. All these things were needed for one quick trip to the mall. Snacks were a constant presence and I spent many nights cleaning up crackers and Cheerios left behind, crushed and crumbled under foot.
Cheerios. For years I wouldn’t touch the stuff. There’s one particular memory that I have with regards to this heavenly bit of toddler snack food that left me scarred for a good decade. I was assisting a mother with her purchase while her son sat content in his stroller. A little pile of those special O’s rested in his front tray. He snacked happily while his mother rummaged through piles of ribbed t-shirts that I would have to refold again later. As I watched the boy banging a teething ring against the stroller, several pieces of the cereal fell to the floor. I sighed with the realization that later I would be cleaning those up as well, and looked indignantly upon the child before me.
It was then that I noticed the single piece of Cheerio affixed to the chin of this darling little boy, held in place by goops of sticky drool. His mother finally settled on a ribbed T and held it up to the boy for sizing. When she looked at him she also noticed the sopping piece of grain and with one swift, horrifying swoop removed the soggy O with her index finger and inserted it promptly into her mouth.
In perhaps more disgust than was necessary, I gagged. I felt the quick involuntary motion of vomit raise up my throat, burning my esophagus. I swallowed hard and turned from the mother and child, who were continuing on with their clothing and eating as if nothing abnormal had just taken place.
It would be years before another Cheerio would pass my lips. Now that I am older and have several younglings of my own, I’ve had plenty of experience with infant/toddler bodily fluids. I would like to believe nearly four years of cleaning poop and vomit has toughened me up a bit. I’m also used to my son’s big, wet, sloppy kisses. But would I eat a sopping wet Cheerio stuck to his chin? Pretty sure I still wouldn’t go there.
Oh, and I do feel a teeny bit of regret for the sales assistants that have cleaned up the fair amount of Cheerios and Goldfish I’ve left behind on their floors, but gah…I did my time.
Hey Mom…want some?
