Typhoid Mommy

Odd. Just returned from my weekly Target run, where folks saw us coming and cleared a path through even the most crowded of aisles. One lady practically dove into a display of Brita water pictures when I steered the cart towards her.

"Well," I reflected, "It's not a busy time. Most of my fellow shoppers are other mommies. Perhaps they remember what it's like to have a curious, grabby baby in their cart."


Or perhaps they feared contamination. Right before checking out, I caught a glance of myself in a makeup mirror. An oozy white crust appeared to be growing from my eyelids. I was horrified and confused. . . then it dawned on me. Desperate to get all of my errands done between Baby C's two naps, we left the house immediately after her lunch. Part of which (the yogurt course, apparently) was still drying on my face.


  1. My sympathies. This sounds sooo familiar! I can't tell you the number of times I've taught a class with spit-up on the back of my shirt...just below the shoulder!

  2. I'm laughing out loud. If only I could get a dollar for everytime, after having children, I passed a mirror and casually looked, only to be horrified by the image staring back at me (with either crusy oatmeal, ketchup stains, unbrushed hair, unbrushed teeth, yogurt in my hair, cottage cheese in my ear, black bra under a white shirt, or, better yet, no bra at all - hmmm, that's why those construction guys were whistling) I would be a rich woman playing tennis righ now as my full time help folded my 10 loads of laundry that are beckoning me to stop avoiding my household duties.


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