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Holding my breath, I extended my pinky finger, carefully, precisely. I couldn’t afford to miss. Doing so would cause pain. I reached out and my nail sank successfully into pliable goo. I had done it. I exhaled and breathed in again. This time holding my breath as I skewered the goo, extracting it.
The precious boy in my arms blinked at me and rubbed his nose before snuggling back into me.
I was captive, my life held mid-sentence, by these moments when he let me rock him to sleep.
But I had boogers on my fingers.
He’d been getting off to sleep so nicely when he whispered into the dark.
“Boogies”
My heart melted and my immune system revolted simultaneously.
Mama kindness won out.
I picked those boogies ever so carefully and stored them on an undisturbed finger until he fell asleep in my snuggles.
This was contentment.
My goo smudged fingers proof that my heart had been blessed with a child to love.
I lay him in bed, crept out, and closed the door on the dark room.
Now In the light, I washed off the thick proof with as much soap and hot water as needed. I was thankful, thankful that I had a precious child whose boogers I was invited to pick.
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