We’ve been sick. All of us. Mom, Dad, Bean, Grandma Tutu, the whole shebang. There has been a pouring of snot from our collective orifices- and enough tears- to grease the gears of an entire Indy 500. Were going on week seven of constant sickness. Young children are just mobile disease vectors, and it’s a serious design flaw of the universe that parents have to take care of them while they are coming down with the same thing.
Still, there is always a candle to light the darkness, even if it’s cast of a sort of bemused parental irony. The Bean has, like most months, a cough. She still can’t snort in her boogers and swallow them, so they just kinda drain into her lungs- hence the cough.
When the cough comes on good and strong, it dislodges great clumps of mucus. I can’t even begin to imagine what she thinks is happening when a lump of warm mess comes up her throat and lands in her mouth, but her horrified befuddlement- coupled with the fact that she can’t wail about it, cause her mouth is full of oook- is really magic to watch.