Fair warning: If you’re creeped out by bodily fluids, you should stop reading right now. You may also want to reconsider motherhood, because at some point, you’re going to find yourself where I am at the present moment . . .
Which is covered in snot.
BoyWonder has caught my megacold, thanks to the big sweet-lovin’ kisses he plants on my lips several times a day. I tried to dissuade him, knowing I was sick, but he’s a super insistent kisser. And how on Earth can you say no to this face?
Pretty cute, huh? Havarti and I produce unbelievably adorable offspring. Not that we’re biased or anything.
However, he’s not so cute when he’s got a snot faucet for a nose, isn’t sleeping well because of it, and insists on being picked up 57 times a day.
My shoulder is not a Kleenex, but it’s being used as one. And no matter how lightning-fast I fly at him with a tissue when I see the big monster starting to drip, he always manages to get the back of his hand up there to smear it across his cheek just before I reach him. Every. Single. Time.
He’s recently figured out how to blow his nose, which is really cute. He hasn’t figured out, however, that once you use a tissue you can’t put it back in the box. It’s a little disconcerting to reach into the tissue box and pull out one that’s already been used. I’m not real squeamish, but every time that happens I get an uncontrollable urge to start sanitizing everything in the house, including the tissue box, the remote control, BoyWonder’s hands, and my Kleenex shoulder.
Pulling a used tissue out of the box is the only time I really get that urge, though. It’s kinda sick, but after having three kids (and nannying several babies) being covered in snot really doesn’t phase me. I wonder how many times I’ve gone out in public with dried snot smeared across my sweater and not even noticed it. I’m guessing more than once.
Tired of the word “snot” yet? (My MomFriend, P-Diddles, is probably dry heaving by now. She can’t handle the bodily fluid talk. It’s amazing she’s survived this long with three kids.)
Well, I’m tired of snot, period. We should buy stock in Kleenex. At least someone should benefit from all this mucus and phlegm (sorry, P-Diddles).
Since we’re on the topic of disgusting bodily fluids, I could tell you about the time The Muse vomited all over me, but that might cross the line. However, I will tell you a funny story that involves vomit, but not quite as disgustingly.
A few years ago, we stopped to eat at Chipotle one night on our way to Costco. The Muse was about five and Dolittle was maybe 18 months. We were all sitting together, having a lovely meal, when out of nowhere The Muse started crying and screaming – really loudly – and I saw blood on her hand. What the heck? As we were trying to calm her and discern what had happened, Dolittle suddenly started barfing all over her high chair. The kid had never vomited before, ever. So within a matter of about ten seconds, we’d gone from a peaceful, pleasant dinner to one kid wailing and bleeding and one kid puking. It was like we were being punked. Turns out The Muse had bitten her own finger. And we never did figure out what was wrong with Dolittle – just a random vomit, I guess. Needless to say, we didn’t go to Costco that night.
Aren’t you glad I shared that with you? I’m sure your life wouldn’t have been complete without that story.
Or all of my detailed ruminations about snot.
I gotta go blow my nose now.
Hopefully with a clean tissue.