As a kid, my friends and I loved playing "What's Grosser Than Gross?" We would try to top each other's grossness by naming two disgusting scenarios from which the other would have to choose.

"What's grosser than gross? Eating a bag of worms or taking a bath in spoiled milk?"

Throw my two children into the mix and "gross" doesn't mean so much anymore. In the past year I've been peed on, pooped on and thrown up on. If it can shoot out of a baby's body, it has landed on me.

I'm not talking about an isolated, "That was gross but oh-so-cute when he peed in my face" incident, either. I get poop on my hands about once a week. A diaper is bound to leak through to a baby's clothes every so often, and I have become the cleanup expert.

But I hate this dirty job and often long to never deal with another diaper again. I'm the first to let the grandparents step in as soon as they arrive at the house. I feel slightly guilty letting others take care of the mess, but I enjoy the break.

Pee I can handle. It smells, but it's not poop, which can come in all forms and include recognizable food -- my son loves corn. I don't even like talking about it, because then I have to picture it.

I grew up the only girl in my family, which means I had two older, smellier brothers who delighted in stinking up rooms in any way they could. That made me none too comfortable talking about bodily functions, let alone dealing with them first hand. Poop belongs in the toilet, not sneaking out from a baby's malfunctioning diaper or smearing on a changing table as an active toddler rolls over and over during changing time.

My husband has had his share of diaper disasters but doesn't find that they desensitize him to the sheer terror of it all. "I still feel sick to my stomach, but you gotta get it done," he says.

With another one on the way, I envision more gross-out moments in our parenting future. And with two walking toddlers, I know the bloody accidents are nearby. I hate the sight of blood, but didn't bat an eye when my son fell into the coffee table and blood gushed from his nose.

I've heard some men say they will never change a diaper, and I wish I had that luxury. Dirty diapers are often disgusting, but it's grosser than gross to keep your child sitting in his own mess (hello, diaper rash) instead of sucking it up and cleaning it up.

So I get that queasy, "Could it smell any worse?" feeling more days than not, but I know that it's all part of the deal. Some day my children will lock themselves in the privacy of their own smelly bathroom and I won't have to look at another diaper ever again.

Until then, gross is what you make it. I could throw up or just get it over with as quickly as possible.

I know I will never say that I miss changing diapers, but in just a few years I will be able to say I don't miss them.

Laura Lewis Brown is the mother of infant twins. Her column appears every other Thursday.