The Toddler Chronicles, No. 18
A thing happened the other day. A nose thing.
Maybe a week-ish ago, a thing happened with Lyla and me. Gabby witnessed it and actively dry-heaved to the point of nearly vomiting.
It didn’t seem particularly traumatizing for me personally, but apparently it was for Gabby and she strongly encouraged that I make a post about it.
I’m not sure if her being traumatized or me not being traumatized says more about her or more about me, but I’m sure it says something about one or both of us in some capacity. Oh, and don’t forget about the impact of this event on Lyla, which could be traumatizing from the thing happening in the first place, but more likely it would’ve just been completely forgotten within a month and only talked about as campfire lore around family circles had I not been coerced into writing about it and posting it in the annals of the internet ad infinitum.
But I digress.
So about a week-ish ago a thing happened. For context, Lyla and Charlotte are of that age and developmental bracket where they still casually pick their noses and then put their fingers in their respective mouths to examine the contents of their nasal passageways.
I know, it’s gross. They’re also four and two years old and we’re working on modifying that behavior, among a myriad of other behaviors, to produce well-behaved gremlins.
But alas, they still do it.
About a week-ish ago we were all home the other day and Lyla was picking her nose and attempting to covertly eat the boogers because she knows better. Gabby and I barked at her and reminded her that it’s gross and to not do it, so naturally she climbed on my lap.
She climbed on my lap not to be sweet and cuddly though. She climbed on my lap because, the logic goes, if she’s sitting on top of me directly in front of my face facing away from me, I apparently can’t see her covertly picking her nose. Again.
However, Gabby was on the couch adjacent to us and did see it and chided her again.
Without breaking eye contact with Gabby, Lyla extended her index finger and casually, slowly, methodically, raised her arm up and behind her with that extended index finger and before I realized what had happened, that finger was inside of my nose. Then, as quickly as it had happened in the first place, she removed it from my nostril and casually, slowly, methodically, lowered her arm and placed that extended index finger in her own mouth, still without breaking eye contact with Gabby.
The order of events which ensued immediately after were:
1) Me feeling vaguely violated on some superficial level.
2) Gabby aggressively dry-heaving, nearly to the point of actual vomiting.
3) And me again, laughing hysterically at Gabby’s gag reflex.
The most amusing part is the Gabby of it. Gabby, who has been a registered nurse for several years and a 911 paramedic for even longer nearly literally vomited not from guts, gore, trauma, bed bugs, weeping pedal edema, assorted bodily-crevice cheese, or missing limbs… but because she saw our child pick my nose and eat it.
We all have limits. That night, we discovered Gabby’s.
I can’t wait for Lyla to read this ten years from now.