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Thursday, January 5, 2012

Second-Hand Boogers

The second I said the name of this blog out loud, I knew I had to use it for something. It's an odd title, but I really love it. It truly symbolizes what it is to be a parent. It shows the sacrifice you make in becoming secondary in your own life. It depicts the grossness you deal with as a parent. It's a testament to how many foreign bodily fluids will end up on you at one point or another. It is beautiful, no matter how disgusting it is. Just like your kids.

I was driving one day, and Casey sneezed. It wasn't bad, and she didn't have any danglers, which was nice. She picked her nose. She always picks her nose. I wish I knew where she gets that. I wish that last sentence couldn't be answered by looking in a mirror. Anyway, some of the time, she does it and eats it in front of me, just because it grosses me out. She gets a kick out of that. This time, she just yelled for me. She didn't know what to do with this golden nugget she just excavated from her nostril, and without thinking, I reached back and told her to give it to me. She wiped it right on my finger. That's when I said it.



"This is my life. Second-hand boogers."

The light bulb went off, and I knew that I'd have to remember that phrase. The booger? It ended up in the graveyard under my seat. Where else would I put it? I really don't know why I opted to reach back and get it. It's not the only time I did something like that. One day, on the way to see the great grandparents, Casey got car sick, and she told me. "I'm sick, Daddy." I looked at her, and I knew she was going to lose it. What did I do? I reached back and cupped my hand, as though I could catch the entire spew. I still have no idea what possessed me to do that, but I did it.

Of course, what she expelled was more than I could handle, and I was left with a handful of puke. I held it out over the passenger seat, where it dripped until I flung it out of my window. When I got to my grandparents' house, I changed Casey's clothes, and she promptly rested in Great Grandma's lap. I spent some time cleaning my car and her car seat. She slept it off, and all was well again.

The puke doesn't bother me like I thought it would. The first time she did it, she was sick, and I was feeding her mashed potatoes. She sprayed me like Reagan from The Exorcist. It hit my shoulder at full force, and all I could do was laugh. The only bad part is that I ate off the same spoon, and I got sick a few days later. Again, I don't know what possessed me, but I did it to entice her to eat.

The thing is that the poop, puke, pee and snot are all a part of the job. I feel sometimes like I'm the lead shit shoveler at the zoo, but it's my zoo, and I get to have fun with the animals. That makes it all worthwhile.

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