I am lying in the sun with the baby. Life seems pretty good. She is having a great time looking at the leaves, and I am reading a very important article in Star Magazine. She starts to make cute little baby noises and I look at her. She is rolling to her side, and I see something behind her ears.

“What is behind your ears Wiggles?” I crouch down, take a look, and am suddenly overcome with the horror/intrigue I felt when I first saw “The Jersey Shore.” I timidly take my finger and touch.

“Oh my God.” The unthinkable. I am a horrible mother. I have never washed behind my baby’s ears. The irony of the cliché starts seeping into my sense of self as I am forced to digest what I have done. My baby has 7 weeks of crust built up behind her ear. That is 7 weeks of drool, vomit, dust, dirt, and whatever else may have collected. I cannot believe I never thought to investigate back there.

I immediately run her upstairs to the bath. Swirling in self-rage I toss the baby into the tub and get to work freeing her from this bondage of ear crust. As I work away the layers week by week she gives an inquisitive look and I feel like her eyes are laughing at me. Mocking me.

Okay fine. Maybe she doesn’t give a flying fuck in a rolling doughnut about the back of her ears. But the simple fact that every mom knows to tell their children “don’t forget to wash behind your ears” makes me feel like I should kick my own ass.