But it's good for you

The Littlest One is starting to get a little bit snotty.

I could tell, because he has a streak of snot from his right nostril that runs up to the outside corner of his right eye.

It has dried, leaving a little full stop chunk of mucus high in his cheek.

I’m doing my best to avoid looking at the sleeve of his jacket which, I’m fairly sure, has somehow been involved in the relocation of snot to where it now lies.

“Need to blow your nose?” I enquire.

“No sank you,” he tells me.

“Yeah, I think ya do,” I say, figuring I’m going to have to play a more active role in this scenario that I would like as I reach over for a tissue, wondering why there are Man Sized tissues, which are a pretty good size, and why no one has thought to invent a Toddler Size, or even Child Size.

I imagine these would be roughly the size of a bath sheet or, perhaps, a king sized flat doona cover.

“Blow,” I say, holding the tissue over his shnoz and holding one nostril closed.

It takes a few goes and loads of encouragement to blow out his nostril, and not his mouth and lots of reassurance that, no, it isn’t funny and will you please just blow your frigging nose!

Finally, we have progress. We also have a tissue that is incapable of holding the amount of snot that a pre-schooler’s left nostril can physically hold. We have a revolted mummy.

“Euwww!” I say, holding my hand and a snot ridden tissue out.

“That’s funny,” he says.

“Wanna eat it?” I ask.

“No sank you,” he tells me.

“But you like to eat snot,” I remind him.

“No sank you,” he says again. “I just like to eat little bits of snot. I don’t like lots of snot.”

Bloody fussy eaters.

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