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Broke Wife, Big City
Snot Factory
By Aprill Brandon
It’s over, people! It’s finally over! Insert high-pitched and highly
inappropriate creepy laugh here!
Winter is officially dead. Ha! Burn (freeze? freezer burn?) in hell,
you frosty bastard! Or have fun torturing New Zealand or wherever it is
you go now. Whatever. I’m not a freaking meteorologist. All that
matters is, mild though you were this year, you are now someone else’s
problem and no longer able to slightly inconvenience my life with your
annoying freezing rain and your wind gusts that hurt my teeth and ruin
my already pathetic hairstyle.
In fact, I’m so happy spring is here, I don’t even care that it’s
causing me to slowly drown in a tsunami of toddler snot.
Yes, as it turns out, when two people with allergies fall in love and
get drunk on the second cheapest wine on the menu, they end up nine
months later (or 10 months and 9 days, in SOME cases) with an adorable,
tiny, little Poindexter. And for the past three weeks, this certain
adorable, tiny, little Poindexter’s face has been covered in gooey
fluids. It’s just…everywhere. Like a slow-moving avalanche of liquefied
boogers. Like a pint-sized mucus mudslide. Like a miniature green flood
from a tiny Bible for beginning readers.
But, as disgusting as it all is, I’m not going to complain. Nope. Not
gonna. Because I spent pretty much the whole winter complaining about
how I couldn’t wait for spring. About how snow and ice were this close
to driving me into a homicidal rage. About how I would sell my first
born for just one day above 30 degrees (I wouldn’t, of course. Calm
down. I didn’t even have any offers. But still, it shows you how
serious I was).
So, no. No, I’m not going to complain about how whatever is in the air
this long-awaited spring is turning my son into Slimer from
“Ghostbusters.” Nor will I complain about how it’s damn near impossible
to teach a young kid (especially one who just recently learned that a
fork is used to shovel food into his mouth hole as opposed to sticking
it repeatedly into Mommy’s eye) how to wipe his own nose. As it turns
out, you can lead a stuffed up horse to a tissue, but you can’t make
him blow.
Nor will I say anything about the time my son sneezed directly into my
mouth.
IN. MY. MOUTH.
Or about how, although he is clueless as to the purpose of an actual
tissue, he did deduce Sherlock-style that mom’s pants make a great
place to deposit your snot. (Added bonus, the couch and the dog also
work as fantastic snot depositories).
Or even about how he is so stuffed up that when he’s eating, he has to
make a vital choice between chewing and breathing because he can’t do
both at the same time.
So yes, I won’t complain. Absolutely not. Because it’s spring, you
guys! Finally!
I mean, think of all the opportunities this opens up. I can take my
baby to the playground again. Where he can exchange his disgusting snot
with tons of other snotty-nosed little kids.
I can take him to the park, where he can more fully breathe in the
toxic, pollen-saturated air that makes his face puff up and makes him
talk like every stereotypical nerd character from an 80’s movie.
We can have a picnic, where we can hopefully attempt to eat in the few
seconds in-between sneezing and blowing our noses and wiping our
watering eyes and coughing up pollen.
So, as I said, I will not complain. Nope. Because after a long, dark
winter, it’s finally time to stop and smell the flowers.
And then wheeze and hack and sneeze because whatever is in said flower
makes our sinuses go nuts.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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