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Beware the Finger of Destiny

Standing at the altar, gazing into the eyes of the person you’ve decided you can tolerate longer than all the others,  I didn’t think much about those hidden secrets my wife had locked away.  Secrets squirreled away in a Pandora’s box in her brain, waiting for some trigger to come along and release them.  Something like the birth of our child.  It took some time for me to fully recognize the signs, but it has become overwhelmingly clear that my wife had been harboring a devastating passion, one that Justine’s arrival has released from the depths of Kim’s soul.  For you see, my wife cannot stop picking my child’s nose.

It all started innocently enough.  Months ago, Justine was suffering through a little cold, minor sniffles and snorts, all very cute.  Under the guise of “relief,” my wife starting reaching for a small tool that the hospital had sent home with us: a teal colored bulb syringe.  It looks kind of like a cross between a Christmas ornament and an anteater.  Tool in hand, she’d coerce me to hold Justine’s head while she proceeded to ram the instrument into our innocent baby’s sinuses and attempt to suck out her brain.

Now, I’m not sure the last time you had a rubber tube shoved up your nostril and the air forcibly sucked from your lungs, and frankly I’m not sure I want to know, but if Justine’s reaction is any indication, it is a highly undesirable situation.  But while she dissolves into tears, my wife gleefully went back for more, vowing to “clear the blockage” and “bring peace back to Nostril village.”

This was all horrifying enough, but as she has grown older, the size of her nostrils have, unfortunately, grown as well allowing Kim to bypass the bulb syringe for an old standby – her finger.  Many a day have I cringed and looked away as she went “digging for nose gold,” in my poor, snorting child,  still enlisting me on occasion to provide my services as both child restraint and comedic relief,  trying to hold Justine steady while simultaneously looking away in horror.

I can deal with the dirty diapers, the Elmer’s glue-like spit up, the rancid smell of pureed green beans, even the teething induced sleepless nights.  But for me, the line is with the snot.  It’s gross.  And the fact that Kim spends her days and nights thinking of new ways to pluck it from my child’s nose makes it that much worse.  So let this stand as a warning to one and all:

Don’t let my wife near your nostrils.

Posted in Day to Day Baby Living. Tagged with , , , , , .

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