This weekend we hung out with friends and their cutetastic 11-month-old twins. At one point, I noticed Max chewing on Cheerios one of the babies had already slobbered on and I let him keep going. I have a high tolerance for cooties, especially when Max is actually feeding himself. (Linda over at All & Sundry just did a great post about dealing with sick kids and, even more trouble, sick husbands.)
When Max was a tot, he didn't go through that stage when kids shove every little thing into their mouths just for the hell of it. He's orally sensitive, which is common among children who have cerebral palsy. So Dave and I gave him total freedom to explore the world in other ways, even if it meant letting him crawl on the mall floor. The first time Max ever pulled himself up to a stand—a tremendous milestone for him—was on a toilet seat in our first-floor bathroom. After that, he and the toilet seat were BFF's. (If you feel like chucking your bottle of Purell at me right about now, I understand.)
Something snapped after Max was born. He had a bilateral stroke; I had bigger issues to worry about than some measly germs. I did the usual baby-sanitizing things, I just didn't obsess, and once he was out of infancy I obsessed even less. We're lucky that Max and Sabrina aren't prone to getting sick—if they were, I'd probably feel differently.
How germphobic are you?
