My Son the Germaphobe

Over the years I have tried to encourage my sons to wash their hands after they go to the bathroom, blow their noses, play outside, visit nasty public places, or at other appropriate times. I always err on the side of caution, trying to keep them as healthy as possible and keep the germs at bay. To me, there is nothing worse—well, maybe a root canal—than watching a kid eating his dinner with hands so black it looks as if he had just used them to dig a sewage ditch. The problem is, I think my five-year old son has taken this precaution a little too far. In fact, I think I’ve created a germaphobic monster.

“Hey Andrew, can you hand me a tissue,” my eldest son requests.

“Sure, but just promise me, you’ll wash your hands afterward. You promise?”

“Sure <blow, blow, blow>. Watch out Andrew, here comes the boogie man.”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Mommy, Tyler’s trying to get boogers on me.”

I truly appreciate his concern about not spreading germs, but it has really gotten out of control. His poor little hands look like raw meat from washing them so much and despite my efforts to regularly put lotion on them, the cats still follow him around ready to pounce on his unsuspecting hamburger hands.

I’ve tried to explain that he doesn’t need to worry about germs quite that much, but where do you draw the line? I mean, it would go against the laws of parenting—at least my laws—to say, “It’s OK NOT to wash your hands after you pick your nose.” I mean, that’s just, well…WRONG!

What kills me is, his internal compass for what’s germy and what’s not is a little off. He freaks out when he gets a nostril secretion on his hands, but he has no problem squishing the intestines out of a caterpillar and then grabbing for a slice of pizza. Why is that? All I know is we have to do something about this situation—SOON!

The other night my husband found him in the bathroom at 3:00 a.m. washing his stuffed animals in the sink.

“Andrew, what are you doing?”

“I sneezed on piggy. I’m trying to wash the germs off.”

“It’s OK, buddy. Mommy will wash him in the morning.”

“But what about my sheets? I sneezed on them too.”

“It’s OK. Don’t worry about it.”

“But, but….”

“Good night, Drew.”

It’s just crazy. On the occasional times when we are forced to use a port-a-potty and there is no access to soap and water, he exits the port-a-potty like a surgeon with sleeves rolled up to the elbows and hands in the air.

“C’mon Mommy, we have to get to the car and get a baby wipe to wash my hands.”

“Yes, dear.”

This behavior is also affecting the amount of laundry I have to do. Not only am I washing his stuffed animals, but like most kids, when he has a runny nose his natural response is to go right for the shirtsleeve. Most kids wouldn’t blink an eye after the nose swipe down the forearm, but not Drew.

“Mommy, I have to change my shirt again. I wiped my nose on it.”

“Well, Andrew, why don’t you just get a tissue when you need to wipe your nose.”

“Well, because my brain tells me to wipe it on my shirt.”

Perfect logic for a five-year old, but aggravating for the domestic engineer of the house.

I’m still trying to figure out what to do about this situation before his little hands fall off. Do I tell him to wash his hands after he goes to the bathroom, but not after he blows his nose? Do I just let him keep up this behavior and follow him around with a bottle of hand lotion? Who knows? I did teach him one trick, though.

“Honey, if you blow your nose with two tissues, your hands won’t get yucky and you won’t have to wash them all the time.”

“OK, Mommy. Hey, I have a better idea. If I use TEN tissues they really won’t get dirty.”

I give up!