suck

There’s a terribly descriptive scene in the beautiful memoir, Angela’s Ashes, that has always stayed with me. Me, the girl with no memory for anything good I’ve ever watched, read or seen. Angela, before the days of medicine or those teeny tiny nose suckers, manually, i.e WITH HER MOUTH, sucks the congested snot out of her kid's nose.

Even thinking about that passage in the quickest of ways still sends giant icy fingers down my spine and punches my gag reflex so hard. I love this kid, my gorgeous bubs, and I would be very sad if she got congested and couldn't breathe through her nose, but I could NEVER DO THIS.

I get those magical waves of love over me sometimes, that profoundly deep feeling of, “I made this, this bubs is mine.” It’s overwhelming and hormonal and gets me through the mornings when I would pay 7 million dollars and all my body lotions to curl up into the cool corner of the bed for another 8 hours.

And I would throw myself into the mouth of a lion for this girl or bench-press a Honda civic if it rolled onto a single toe of hers, but I would not, could not lower my mouth over her gorgeous little nose and suck the snot out.

The millisecond something flew into my mouth I would start throwing up every meal I had ever eaten dating back to high school. So, there’s my Mama love limit. Sorry sweet girl.