Picking baby boogies is Mommy's thing, not mine. She also does the Mommy spit-and-clean thing and other monkey-picking-and-preening things. I don't. I'm sure mommies across the world will side with Willow's Mommy, claiming her hygienic ways are much more suitable than mine, with the baby wipes and tissues. I'm not a believer, though I'm sure I'll sprint to Mommy when a "kiss-my-booboo-better emergency" arises. And yet, here I find myself hours after my most recent fall into mommydom. Yes, I picked a nose this morning, and it wasn't mine. The disgrace. But here's the thing I'm most disgraced about: I don't know where the boogie went. It vanished. I checked my hands then the area in close proximity to Willow's face at the time. No boogies. So I carried on with my day. Hours passed. Et voila. The boogie appeared me. And he taunted me. "Nanny, nanny, boo, boo, I'm a boogie-boo-boo, and I'm still on your finger...
A father's journey to finding the right words.