The Science of Snot

Little kids are prone to mild colds. Lots of them. More than I ever thought possible. Daniel must have suffered about 10 or so colds before his first birthday. Since doping infants up on antihistamines is frowned upon, I've come to rely on Vicks (I've even grown to love the smell) and a really expensive air purifier/humidifier that I bought at Bed Bath & Beyond (thank goodness for those 20% off coupons). No matter how many colds Daniel has endured, however, I'm always awed by just how much snot comes out of such a small head. I don't mean to be uncouth, but once you have a baby, no bodily fluid is too gross for discussion. The amount of snot that he produces when he has a cold is alarming. Every time Daniel sneezes, a flow resembling Niagara Falls pours from his tiny nostrils. I try to be proactive and keep large boxes of tissues nearby at all times. As soon as he begins to inhale and wrinkle up his nose, I grab a tissue and position it under his chin to catch any projectile snot. If I happen to be across the room at the time of a sneeze, I'm outta luck. It gets everywhere -- his chin, his shirt, his hands. And then he inevitably rubs his eyes -- you can imagine the mess! When Daniel sneezes in the car, I'm faced with an interesting dilemma. Do I immediately pull over and clean him up, or do I wait until I reach my destination and deal with the consequences? Today, after a morning of nose wiping (which ticks him off more than anything), I had to pull into a parking lot to deal with a particularly powerful car sneeze. I cleaned Daniel up as best I could, made sure the car seat was snot-free, and got back on the road. About 30 seconds later, he sneezed again. This is one war I'm destined to lose.