I don’t do mouths. Spit, slobber, drool . . . they aren’t my thing. Really, it was almost a bigger deal to share a straw with Jac when we were dating than it was to say “I love you.” Almost. I have never spit shined a kids face or licked down unruly hair. I don’t share drinks or spoons or finish my kids food and brushing my teeth always lands in the top 5 highlights of my day.
Gemma hasn’t gotten that memo.
Instead, she is doing her level best to break me (and quite possibly my sanity) by mouthing anything and everything ESPECIALLY if it belongs to me. This summer she found my toothbrush while out at the lake. The first few times I rinsed it really well and still used it even though it was in her mouth when it was confiscated. Then she took to painting things with it and I let her have it. Downside: they were out of toothbrushes at the store and Jac wasn’t expected back for a few days. *sigh*
When she does manage to gain entry to the bathroom here, she gravitates towards the toothbrushes. I was overcoming my revulsion at finding my toothbrush in other places/positions than I had left it until Jac said casually, “We have no idea what she does with them when she’s in here. She probably cleans the toilet.” And cue gag reflex NOW.
The worst is my water bottle. Everyone in the house has one that belongs to THEM. We are 7 people in a 1950’s home, folks, we are used to sharing. I think we are nigh on professionals. But some things are sacred and drinking vessels are one of them. Again, Gemma begs to differ. She LIVES to drink from my bottle and if you catch her in the act she will meet your gaze and begin to screech, “Mine! Mine! MIIIINE!” madly. This is, of course, my fault as this is my reaction when I find her. Now, when she gets the prize in her grasp, she starts in on her yell and runs away with it.
Losing my mind, I tell you. Losing. My. Mind.