We have all been sick, and therefore we all have The Snots. (It's a medical term.)
How many boxes of tissues (that's 'Kleenex', y'all) have we gone through? How many half-used and quarter-used tissues litter my floor? (I want to say 'about a trillion' here.) And how chaffed are our noses?
Four long stories short: Smoochy is better except for coughing and The Snots, I am getting better very slowly, feeling ghastly and my blood pressure is terribly high AGAIN, Mr de Elba has no voice so he can't even TELL me how he is or ASK me how I am (!), and Sonny Ma-Jiminy is recovering from ... da-da DUM! Bronchial Pneumonia! Still has residual coughing and again, The Snots.
I wasn't going to bore The Internets with our ills (I'm saving that for when I'm 80. Or, no-wait, how old is my Mum? 57. Yeah. About then.) But I mentioned it today because I thought you might be interested in ...
No wonder we've been drinking more fluids! Litres are pouring out of us in the form of snot! If we forgot to drink for an hour and kept on *producing*, I think we'd all dry out and go crackly and crunchy.
Smoochy Girl has found her nose, it's a great time. Her little finger is often up there: doing what, I'm not sure. She's either doing a reconnaisance of previously unchartered territory, or she's mounting a search and rescue up the twin caves. Which it is depends on if she brings much out with her when she emerges.
At the same time, she has also discovered my mouth, plunging the same finger deep into the oral structures with a similar manner of inquisition.
And she often does these two investigations in quick succession, in the order I have mentioned them. Gah.
And when I hold her on my hip (which is most of the time) she finds the easiest way to get rid of that wet-nose feeling is to just lean over and wipe on Mummy's shirt. I think people who used to recognise me by the baby food smeared on my left shoulder now recognise me by the snail trails of baby snot on my left shoulder.
"Who's that?"Sonny Ma-Jiminy is a bit sick of getting a tissue and wiping his red-raw nose. It's easier and quicker for him to grab his shirt or jumper, do a quick wipe, and go on his way.
"I don't know, haven't got my glasses on."
"Oh look, there's snot on the left shoulder. I know her."
"Oh, yeah. Snotwoman."
Recently, I started the morning by giving him a huge hug. I love the feeling of my kids in my arms, and I held him close and squeezed him tight. I nuzzled my face in to his tummy to enjoy the lovely, cuddly Sonny-ness of his tiny body. But instead I felt a large quantity of something cold and slimy smearing across my face.
Having your face smeared with somebody else's cold slimy snot is a particularly bad way to start the day.
Now that I've made your day just that little bit brighter, I'll leave you with it. And this should be the last time I mention snot in my blog.