Yuck!

I have a new watch. I love this new watch. This morning I was showing it off to a co-worker. It features a regular clock then just below it is a smaller face with one hand that you change yourself. It also has a tiny space with an “L” and “R” that you change. It’s a nursing watch. Designed to help nursing mothers keep track of when they started breastfeeding and which breast they started on, hence the “L” and “R”. As I was showing it off to my co-worker, who is a mother, another co-worker came up to observe the demo. *He* walked away when I came to the part about keeping track of which breast. The thought of breastfeeding was maybe a little too much for him. It got me thinking about being grossed out. The bar for me getting grossed out is now very high. For instance, the big news in our house is potty training. My son is working on it. But the ease as which I can converse with just about anyone about the potty effort could be strange, maybe rude, but definitely gross. The talk of when, how and where my son goes to the bathroom or doesn’t go, doesn’t bother me. I’m wondering if the Icky Factor goes away when you’re in the hospital to have a baby and quickly nothing becomes sacred. Or maybe it’s the first time you deal with a round of stomach flu and all the fun that brings. Whenever the moment of overcoming the gag reflex hits it seems almost exclusive to parents. The ability to clean up and just keep going because breaking down and losing it really isn’t an option starts when you’re officially a mom or dad. So to all those people who get a little skeeved out by breastfeeding… or downright disgusted when you see babies eating at restaurants … I’m sorry, because the parents are over it.
 
By the way the cool watch is from Con Leche.
www.conlechewatches.com