At around 2 a.m. this morning, Spence moved from "getting sick" to "sick." It was definitive. There was no longer just the illusion of a runny nose. It was there. You could hear it bubbling up near his brain. He wasn't run to the ER sick. Not fever sick. Really, just snotty sick. But at six and a half months, his body had let him down.
In a surprise move, Dave and I remained calm. Dave did not chant "ER" even once. We just pressed number 3 on the phone and hooked up with Bobbie, our advice nurse. She described in detail how to use the pale blue snot sucker and suggested that we get some saline drops.
Bobbie did not, however, mention that using the pale blue snot sucker would be the baby equivalent to Dick Cheney's version of not-torture. His sixth sense kicked in as the knobby device came into view. His screams paralyzed me, rendering me impotent. Dave looked on helplessly. He attempted to rally, but in the end was only able to extract a pin sized wisp of snot. The brook of snot babbled on.
But once again Google and Anastasia saved the day. Over gtalk, Anastasia sagely adviced another device that could divert the course of snot.
My mouth.
Tonight, I walk down my precarious stairs a different woman.
A mama that sucks snot from the nose of her babe.
A wife armed with the best comeback of them all, "Not only did I birth him, but I sucked snot from his nose. With my mouth. It's your turn to rock him back to sleep."
2 comments:
Wow. Henry also hates the snotsucker, but I just put it down as another notch in a lifetime of things that you hate that you need to get through because they're good for you. It never occurred to me to use my mouth. You're my hero. Of course, I'm never sharing a drink with you again, but...
Ah, there are so many unknown rites of passage. Hope Spence is feeling better!
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