Sniffles
Autumn is becoming more and more vocal. My favorite part of spending time with her is when we are able to have "conversations." Her end mostly consists of a little mumbling and a lot of squealing, but you can tell she has something she wants to say but just isn't able to form the words. Most of the time I pretend to know what she's saying and respond with "Is that so?" or "you don't say?" Most of our best talks are when she's on the changing table. For some reason the girl just loves to be undressed. I'll narrate as I take each item of clothing off. "Here go your socks, and now your pants. Oops, you have a heavy diaper. Lots of pee pee in there, huh?" It's all pretty ridiculous when you think about it, but apparently this is how children learn to converse.
Lately at night, through the nursery monitor, I've heard Autumn talking to herself. Who knows what's going through that little mind of hers? Is she talking to the bugs in the mobile above her head or the shadows her nightlight creates on the bedroom wall? It could be that she's just talking to herself for lack of anything better to do. I've been known to do that, especially when I'm alone in the car.
Along with the nighttime babbling has come the sniffing, snorting and sneezing. Autumn is in the middle of her first cold. She's been in good spirits, but her stuffy nose has caused some rather unpleasant encounters with the saline drops and the nasal aspirator. Since she can't blow her own nose, Nathan and I have to resort to this torturous method to clear her nasal passages. I call it "hoovering out the boogers." Autumn hates the process and the whole ordeal leaves her pissed as hell. Nathan holds her head and one arm while I hold the other arm and try to squeeze two drops into each nostril per the directions on the bottle. The makers of this fine product must not have had an actual, conscious child to test on because most of the time I can't even get the bottle tip into Autumn's nose much less get two drops out.
The worst part is squeezing the nasal aspirator, sticking it up one nostril and then the other, each time hoping to pull out whatever is clogging up the pipes. The problem with this method is that whatever we're successful in retrieving usually gets sucked back in because Autumn is screaming and breathing so hard. We have to be quick with the tissues as soon as we've hit the booger jackpot lest we have to go another round with the aspirator.
Afterwards, I hold my angry and tearful daughter and tell her that everything will be okay. I rock her back and forth and stroke her head, but can't help but feel that she would like to get as far away from me as possible. I am, after all, the person who just stuck things up her nose. I swear things will be so much easier when the girl can hold a tissue.
Lately at night, through the nursery monitor, I've heard Autumn talking to herself. Who knows what's going through that little mind of hers? Is she talking to the bugs in the mobile above her head or the shadows her nightlight creates on the bedroom wall? It could be that she's just talking to herself for lack of anything better to do. I've been known to do that, especially when I'm alone in the car.
Along with the nighttime babbling has come the sniffing, snorting and sneezing. Autumn is in the middle of her first cold. She's been in good spirits, but her stuffy nose has caused some rather unpleasant encounters with the saline drops and the nasal aspirator. Since she can't blow her own nose, Nathan and I have to resort to this torturous method to clear her nasal passages. I call it "hoovering out the boogers." Autumn hates the process and the whole ordeal leaves her pissed as hell. Nathan holds her head and one arm while I hold the other arm and try to squeeze two drops into each nostril per the directions on the bottle. The makers of this fine product must not have had an actual, conscious child to test on because most of the time I can't even get the bottle tip into Autumn's nose much less get two drops out.
The worst part is squeezing the nasal aspirator, sticking it up one nostril and then the other, each time hoping to pull out whatever is clogging up the pipes. The problem with this method is that whatever we're successful in retrieving usually gets sucked back in because Autumn is screaming and breathing so hard. We have to be quick with the tissues as soon as we've hit the booger jackpot lest we have to go another round with the aspirator.
Afterwards, I hold my angry and tearful daughter and tell her that everything will be okay. I rock her back and forth and stroke her head, but can't help but feel that she would like to get as far away from me as possible. I am, after all, the person who just stuck things up her nose. I swear things will be so much easier when the girl can hold a tissue.
