"Pea, Mama," said James, looking slightly troubled.
You need to watch children 24 hours a day. Especially the smaller ones.
"It's up his nose," added Dirk, in shock.
I looked up James left nostril. Yes, there was a green pea visible up his nostril. Immediately, images of him inhaling said pea, it causing pneumonia, or worse, ran through my mind. Or what if he had to have an operation to have it removed from his lungs... all we did was look away from him for less than a minute to say two sentences to each other. And now he had a pea up his nose.
Adrenaline pumping, I told Dirk to hold him steady while I ran to find his Mucus Terminator. Okay, that's not it's real name, but I don't know it's real name; suffice to say, small children can't blow their noses, so this creates a vacuum and sucks out the mucus when they have cold. Too much information?!
Dirk carried him over to the settee from his high chair. I ran from the bathroom, performing practice suctions on the Terminator, just to get in the hang of it.
"It's gone, I can't see it," said Dirk, adding to the frazzled tension of the moment.
'Oh no,' I wondered, 'what are we going to do now?'
As I prepared to get the Mucus Terminator in place, practice suctions completed, I saw it. Shiny, slimy and verdant green: the pea. It had been dislodged and had come back down James' nose.
Utter relief flooded through us. I've no idea how it went from so far up his nostril that we couldn't see it to out of his nose, but I am calling it my miracle of the day. Parenthood: it's the ultimate adrenaline ride.
Did I mention he's covered in the chicken pox as well?
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