Gag Reflex

Am I the only one with an overactive gag reflex?  The older I get the less tolerable it becomes.

As a young mother, you have to develop a countenance made of steel.  You have to get through boogies, and diapers, and vomit.  There are times when you discover the grossest of things created by and resulting from your child.  The fact that its your child, makes it more easily stomached, but you find a way to shut yourself off to what our doing.  The mere thought of some of the things we touch and respond to with our children, triggers my gag reflex.

Its not just the bodily functions that get me these days.  Though they are a huge and always reliable source.

Smells make me gag:  Cheap pizza smells like vomit to me and thus I gag.  The combination smell of syrup and eggs together makes me gag. Dog feces and cat litter boxes make me throw up in my mouth.  The smell of Urine in a tucked away doorway walking down the street, the smell of the deodorizer cakes they use in urinals, and the smell of un-bathed people especially musty from the rain, makes me choke. Dirty feet and stale beer and bad coffee and raw eggs, all make my gag reflex jump to attention.

Sounds make me gag too.  Sniffing and snorting and hacking up phlegm are disgusting and even mentioning them makes me gag. Things that go squish or splat, make me gag.  Clipping of toenails and fingernails. Other people throwing up.

The sight of an uncooked egg white,  slimy white bread, that jelly like substance that forms on meats sometimes in the fridge. Mold, and any number of mystery items found on the sidewalk walking through the city.  I gag when I brush my teeth because of the foamy toothpaste getting stuck in my throat. Hearing a dirty joke, or someone talking about any of the aforementioned items, the visual in my head, makes me gag. I don't do city dumps or even like to take the trash out because of the smell of the dumpsters when you lift the lid.  This city Compost program,  it only exacerbates the problem and reinforces my need to avoid the trash.

What am I to do?  Is it because I see things in my imagination in technicolor?  Is my imagination so vivid as to invoke sights and smells and textures with the thoughts?  How will I ever handle the grossness that accompanies caring for my future grandchildren? Will the steel I developed with my boys return, long enough to get me through. Will overwhelming love and admiration trump the gag reflex?