An Arsenal of Boogers
Nathan has recently figured out how to wave.
Well, kind of.
He mostly just flaps his arm around, like a cat playing with a feathered toy. He doesn’t bend his wrist yet, but it still counts as a wave because he does it whenever I wave at him. He doesn’t wave all the time, but when the mood strikes, he’ll wave hello, good bye, and good night. As long as there is nothing else he can focus his attention on.
Like entangling his slobbery fingers in my hair.
Or trying to pick my nose for me. Thank you very much, son, but I assure you, I can pick my nose myself. He’s gotten really bad at this when I am trying to breastfeed him. Things will be going fine, and all of a sudden, his arm shoots out of nowhere and before I have time to yank my head away, he’s stuck his finger in my nose.
And he can’t just stick his finger in my nose and leave it at that.
He wiggles it.
It is quite disconcerting.
And it makes me sneeze.
But I don’t just sneeze once. I am one of the unlucky few who sneezes MULTIPLE TIMES IN A ROW. I am like the machine gun of sneezes. Rapid-fire sneezes. My sneezes could be used as a weapon. I could just use Nathan’s finger as the trigger, aim, and then sneeze someone to death.
Nathan thinks this is funny.
Well, at least he’s not picking his own nose yet. Once that happens, I can expect to find dried boogers wiped all over the place. He has an infinite supply of boogers. I’m constantly having to suck them out of his nose with the giant bulb syringe, which he LOVES. If my secret weapon is my rapid-fire sneezes, Nathan’s secret weapon is his arsenal of boogers. So yeah, I’m glad he hasn’t discovered his own nose just yet.
Be thankful for the little things, right?