He would say that the two worst words in the English language are "nasal aspirator."
He has a bad cold. When Mary gets sick she spends all day on the sofa wrapped in blankets, napping, watching TV, getting plenty of fluids and chicken soup. She's more quiet than usual, but she's game enough to give us a watery smile now and then through her cloud of used Kleenex.
James, on the other hand, is furious when he has a cold. I do feel bad for him; how would anyone feel held down to a changing table with a bulby blue thing stuck up their nose?
***
It's weird and novel sensation for me to go through the clothes that Mary and James have outgrown, and instead of saying "Oh, some day some hypothetical future baby can wear this," -- saying, "The baby can wear this NEXT WINTER."
I didn't mean to give the impression that we're not delighted by the arrival of Baby 3 (or Pogo, as he/she is known around here). It's true that I'm scared for all kinds of reasons*, but both Bill and I are very happy in a giddy, oh-boy, leap of faith kind of way.
(Mary, on the other hand, is incredulous. "But you just had a baby.")
Obviously it's going to be a rough couple of years for all of us, but at least we know from experience (Mary) that there's light at the end of the tunnel. And that light, when it comes, is very beautiful and very bright.
*A sampling:
1) How am I going to take care of two babies in diapers, when I'm notoriously selfish and short-tempered?
2) How unfair is it that Jamie only gets to be "the baby" for a short time?
3) How am I going to cope with the ordeal of another C-section delivery and recovery when the memory of the last one is so hellishly fresh in my mind?
