Baby girl, I know you aren’t feeling your best. I know you aren’t in the greatest of moods. I know the fact that right now you have to choose between breathing and being able to suck your fingers enrages you, but please just let me wipe your nose! There is snot running down your face and all over your onesie. I promise, if you let me do it, you’ll feel better. It may even help you breathe. Then you can suck your fingers a little bit before your nose stuffs up and you once again become a ball of frustrated baby rage.
Please don’t arch your back and turn your head away every time I get near your nose with the wet wipe. I will wipe your nose. It is going to happen. You’re just prolonging the excruciating experience and delaying the inevitable. This ain’t Mama’s first rodeo. I had to do this to your older sisters, too. Mama always triumphed in the end.
Poor baby girl. I need to do the saline spray. It will help get the snot out of your nose. You hate this more than having your nose wiped, I know. Baby, despite your screams of protest, I can assure you this does not qualify as torture. Just like with the wipes, please, don’t keep turning your head away. See, I just squirted you in the eye.
Great, now you’re even more pissed.
I have to wipe your nose again. The saline spray finally went up your nose where it is supposed to go and now more snot is running down your face. Just one last wipe. Let me get that booger stuck on your nose. Don’t give me that look. This is not the single most painful betrayal in your life, I just wiped your nose. How about a nice nurse and some cuddles to sweeten your disposition. Maybe you’ll even drift off for a nap. And wake up with a stuffy nose and snot running down your face. And we’ll do this all over again.
The day you learn to blow your own nose will be a wonderful, glorious day.
G.I. June 