I was recently forced to confess something to my mother-in-law.

I figured it was better that she heard it from me than somebody else.

You see, I always swore that I wouldn’t have a snotty baby.

I’d see those thick, gloopy candles in the street and privately declare that no child of mine would bare such atrocities on its top lip.

Only, as any front-facing baby-carrying mum will testify, sometimes it’s impossible to know what’s going on up front.

So I laid my cards on the table, “Margaret, sometimes when we’re out in public, Sproglette’s nose runs.”

There was a silence.

Then she explained that there’s a visible difference between the top lip of a baby whose mother periodically wipes its nose, and the top lip of a baby whose mother lets drip.

I was safe, though I continued to step out in fear.

Or I did until a friend introduced me to the Snuffle Babe Nasal Aspirator.

It’s an ingenious device that I now affectionately refer to as The Snot Sucker.

It’s amazing and it does exactly that. It enables one to selflessly suck snot out of our little ones noses.

Sharp inhale – goo out of nostril onto gauze – win.

Now armed, I shall not be stepping out without it (though I may need to construct a wing mirror or moisture monitoring device that will enable me to detect the onset of nostril juice).

Looking to the future, however, I’ve been pondering how I might pass down the skill of nose blowing.

I’ve tried miming it, to no avail – how does one encourage a little one to anticipate the drip, request a handkerchief, push their tongue to the roof of their mouth, blow through their nostrils, have a discreet look around, and dispose of the offending article?

HOW?

It would seem we both have much to learn!

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