*author's note: to the obviously large number of germaphobes visiting my blog, please IGNORE the fact that my child (that was attached to me umbilically for almost 9 months) and I shared the same bottle of moonshine. In our moment of desperation, cross-contamination was not a concern!
But today's post is not about my acute illness, it is about an addiction I share with my Beans. I don't know if I should feel guilty for possibly passing this down to him genetically, or because I have been feeding his (and my) habit for years, with no plans to stop. Just call me Crack Mama.
So let's all pretend we are sitting, without judgement, in a circle, in some church basement. I'll get the ball rolling...
My name is Debbie, and I am an Afrin addict. I have passed this addiction to my son, and feel like I have no way out. The first time either of us feel a stuffy nose coming on, we head for the magic elixir. We don't mess around, either... It's Severe Congestion Afrin WITH Menthol, or nothin', baby. I know I sound unrepentant, and perhaps I am. Maybe I am not ready to shake this monkey from my back. I know my son's not.
He was lying prostrate on my bed yesterday, using his cell phone to text me in the other room, as he was too weak and sick to come get me, or raise his voice to holler for me.
B: does we have any afrin, madre? (for the record, he does know this is illiterate sounding, but somehow thinks grammatically incorrect texts are funny)
Me: yes, beanie
B: da good kind?
Me: no, beans. only generic
B: can u go 2 the store n getz some extra-strength afrin?
B: wit menthol?
Me: good lord. yes, ok
B: and sum pudding?
B: don't forgets da afrin
Me: right. go to sleep or i'm taking you to school.
I get home from the store, and he sees the Afrin and literally starts singing a weird, little joyful ode to menthol Afrin (creative, yet disturbing). He snatches it from me and squirts it in each nostril without flinching. He lets out a sigh of relief and lays his head gently, and happily, back on his pillow. Very nonchalantly, I take the bottle from him, go into the other room and take a couple of hits off of it, myself. Ahhh... there's just nothing better than an open nose, nostrils burning sweetly from the menthol. Who doesn't like to breathe through their nose?
Does it sound to you like we may have a problem?