Dirty Mouth?

Last night, Elise and Luke were playing behind the rocking chair in Luke’s room when he emerged holding a sippy cup. It was an old sippy cup of his that I hadn’t seen in months. 

I recoiled when I noticed it was still filled with liquid. A liquid that must have once been milk. But it was yellow. Yellow milk.

I screamed. Internally.

As he walked closer to me, I noticed how the clear plastic top to the top was tinged brown. *more internal screams*

And then, I notice he had a drop of opaque liquid on his lower lip and was wearing an expression of regret. 

ACK! HE TASTED THE NAST MILK!

I grabbed the cup from him and looked at it. It was, indeed, milk. And amazingly, it was still in liquid phase. (Apparently, after the solid-phase rotten milk curdling, which I was, unfortunately, well aware of, was the back-to-liquid-yellow milk phase.)

Then, because it had to be done, I gave it a sniff.

How to describe the smell? Not like rotten milk at all but rotten in its own right. It was wrong. So wrong. 

AND LUKE DRANK IT.

What’s wrong with him?

I feared the worst. Luke was going to get violently ill and throw up all night. I mean, what happens to people who drink months old milk?

I picked him up and sprinted to the bathroom and told him to spit. He, being not-yet-two and all, just kind of sputtered and flapped his lips about, finding these antics highly enjoyable. I made him at least drink some water and dilute any fatal yellow milk poisons.

Luke seemed just fine. But I had to wonder – didn’t he have any survival skills to not know you don’t try and taste anything that looks or smells like that? What’s wrong with him?

A few minutes later, I turned around to find Luke trying to stick his tongue in the tube of diaper rash cream.

Is this what I get for having a boy? 

One word: Perma-heartburn.