Finger Lickin’ Good

Meatwad sucks her thumb.  It was actually a blessing when she figured it out, as she felt compelled to nurse continuously when she was an infant.  Made those first couple of days really hard on Mater.  Pacifiers are great, but not always as close at hand as, say, ones thumb… It being attached to said hand and all.  Unfortunately, Meatwad can suck her thumb with her mouth fully closed, having coaxed her teeth into a thumb-accommodating overbite.  Gotta get her off the thumb soon, or we’re going to have some serious dental issues.  But that’s a matter for another time.

When sucking her thumb, Meatwad’s accustomed style is a loose fist with her forefinger extended along side her nose.  As it happens, noses are equipped with finger-sized holes, and it is awfully convenient to sometimes nestle that finger in there where it’s nice and warm.  The arrangement is relatively symbiotic, as the finger offers some, at times much needed, cleaning in exchange for the nostril’s generous hospitality.  One of the unfortunate results of this transaction, however, is that the products of such scouring are often wiped on her lip or cheek.  Something I, personally, find quite revolting.  Alas, the attention Mater and I have drawn to the issue has, I think, diverted the deposits to her mouth.  Hide the evidence.

We have been trying to convince Meatwad for some time now to quit picking her nose, but to no avail.  As long as the thumb lodges in her mouth, that finger is always right there, a mere stretch of a tendon away from her boogery nose.  We’ve plied the “ballerinas don’t pick their noses” logic that worked so well with potty training, but to no avail.  So this weekend I called in the artillery…

You shouldn’t pick your nose, I said, you might attract a Booger Monster.  They like to live in well-picked nostrils.  And do you know what they eat? I asked with an ominous air.  Fingers.  If you stick your finger in your nose, and you have a hungry Booger Monster living in it, it might bite the end of your finger off!  So maybe you shouldn’t pick your nose anymore, eh?

I haven’t mentioned the Booger Monster since, by name anyway.  But if I catch her with her finger edging up towards her stuffy nostril, or see evidence that it’s already been there, I simply caution her, don’t forget what I told you about picking your nose.  She nods, retracts her finger tightly.  I have no idea if she remembers, but this is the type of thing, six months from now, where she’ll recite a dissertation on the ecology of the Booger Monster without any further prompting or mention.  There haven’t been any nightmares yet, at least none that can’t be attributed to being sick.  Am I being mean, have I gone too far?  I prefer to think of it in terms of authoring a modern fairy tale. Maybe I’ll pitch it to Neil Gaiman…