You know, until I started dripping snot on my daughter’s hair.
Yep. One minute I’m in the beanbag chair with her, combing her hair as she swats at me distractedly, and the next minute, I’m trying to figure out why she has drops of water on the back of her head.
Moms can’t have colds. They can’t even be sick. I’m pretty sure that’s an unwritten rule buried deep in the annals of the book of universal mommery.
We’re the human napkins of the house.
Think about it.
Everyone who comes up to our knee caps mops their little noses on our arms, hands, necks — whatever’s available really — and unceremoniously cough into our faces, sometimes sneezing a fine mist over our entire heads, too.
But, here’s the thing.
Moms can’t climb back into bed with a heating pad, big ol’ glass of orange juice, a hot toddy and trashy magazines and hope for recovery to wash over them. Someone has to watch, feed, wipe, clothe, dipe and otherwise herd the children to and fro.
Yep, I said “to and fro.” Because without the “fro,” you can’t have the “to,” and without that simple carpool-esque balance holding the world together at the seams, the atmosphere can quite possibly fall out of alignment.
Am I exaggerating? Do stay-at-home dads face the same conundrum?
Probably, but it could just be the DayQuil talking.
At least I’m not dripping on my laptop… thank goodness for twirled up napkins. They fit perfectly in runny nostrils.