If I had written about little David a week ago, I would have bragged about how well David is developing. He's had a language explosion and his vocabulary is increasing daily. He's no longer having separation anxiety about going into his nursery room at church. And, even though he's just 2 and a few months, he can already identify five or six colors. But, today I get to share about my goofball son who had to get a bead extracted from his nose on Friday.
Kendra and David were watching TV on Friday morning when David started crying about how his nose hurt. Kendra thought he might have a neener (our word for booger), so I tried to help him out. David started having a fit whenever I touched his nose. I thought he might have something stuck up there, but I couldn't get him to sit still long enough to find out. Eventually his shrieks of "No Mommy!" made me decide that traumatizing him wasn't a good idea.
Three hours later, we're at Chick-fil-A some friends having lunch. I mentioned to Kim Lewis that David had a nose problem that morning. Sweet Kim, who is a nurse, coaxed David into looking up at the ceiling. Kim took a quick peek up his nostril and announced that something purple was indeed up there. I got on the cell phone and (laughing) called the doctor who said to come in after lunch. Why rush? It had already been up there for nearly four hours.
It took three people to wrestle David to the exam table. The nurse held his arms over his head, I pinned his legs down, and Dr. Howelton leaned over his torso while holding some rather long needlenose pliers. It only took 30 seconds of blood-curdling screams before Dr. Howelton presented me with a damp purple bead. And in typical Dr. Howelton fashion, she dryly says to Caelyn, "Do you want to put that bead on your necklace?"
Apparently shoving objects into facial orifices is a rather common childhood experiment. The nurse said someone else had called about it the day before, but the child eventually snorted it up and coughed it out -- ew! My parents once had to get several peas out of my sister Jamie's nose. She didn't want to eat them and her nose seemed like the most logical place for disposal. I'm just hoping David remembers not to do that again.