Hindsight strongly suggests I should have exercised a heavier hand with the gin. Andrew and I have shoveled a path through most of the snot, but our mini-man has it now and we’re not sure whether his motor skills are developed enough to wield a shovel. Poor little fella has a bright red, runny nose and streaming eyes in a shiny face.
As ever, he is remarkably tolerant – and at least it has given him scope to perfect his latest trick which is wiping his nose on my hair.
He also likes to open his mouth wide, clamp gums to my shoulder and distribe drool and snot down my back. He’s asleep now, passed out in a Calpol stupor.