snow and little sneezes

it finally snowed! now, keep in mind that i never think it can snow enough, so despite the fact that we have a good solid 6-8 on the ground, i'm up for another foot or two. can't help it. i love snow.

last night we braved the weather and drove over to visit darin and cathy and their new little one, who's almost 3 months old now. devin's got a cold and sneezed a few times--these cute little baby sneezes that expelled more baby crap than i thought possible. the sneeze sounded so...small. and yet...large ew. who knew.

i find it interesting that there are some things that stay the same and some things that change, as you move along. the constant is my love of winter--i have an inane need to be buried under 3 feet of snow. i love the feel of the wind crisping my cheeks and the tiny flakes kissing my eyelids. it's beautiful, it's clean, it's cold.

the thing that has changed, with time, is my gross-out factor. i used to have a problem with people puking--i was a sympathetic puker. over time the reflex has died down some; the odor will still provoke a reaction, but it's manageable. snot has ALWAYS been repulsive to me--mine, anyone's. doesn't matter.

last night while holding small devin she heaved up a good sneeze on my face. i was lucky that there wasn't much in it; but what was in it ended up on my chin. i heard dan say, "kim can't stand mucus; i don't know why she wanted to hold the baby now." but i didn't have that first reaction of: drop baby and leap for shower.

i calmly reached over and selected a tissue, and wiped off my face and hers.

***

when i was a kid i didn't like a lot of things. i was honestly a horrid hypochondriac--i thought i had aids, i thought i had leprosy, i wouldn't drink from a soda can in the family car on road trips unless i drank first. i've always had a horrible fear of bees--that heavy hum--and centipedes.

i know i can handle these things logically--i know that i am thousands of times the size of a bug, i know that i haven't fondled any armadillos lately to infect myself and get shipped to a leper colony. is it maturity that allows you to take a step back and say, this is not a Big Thing.

the Big Things in life come at you like the jack in the box of a child--you open the box hoping for chocolate, and you get the four horsemen: pestilence, war, death and famine.

those are the Big Things. when i was young my mom used to tell me that i was "making mountains out of molehills" -- her way of telling me that i was overreacting. when i was seven or so i had a habit of hyperventilating when i was nervous. mom would hand me a paper bag and say, just breathe.

***

i'm still a bit of a germ fiend--i'm constantly after dan to wash his hands--but it's toned down enough that i'm not a fanatic about it. and i will freely admit that i tense up when i hear a bee--but i no longer run off screaming and waving my arms around wildly.

it is of interest to me that the constants in your life can be good and bad--helpful and detrimental, etc. this morning i'll put on my boots and tromp around outside until my nose is so cold that i cannot feel it. i'll make a snow angel, i'll leave some kim-sized footprints roaming around the townhouse area, i'll probably bring my younger cat, henry, outside and put his small pink toes in the snow, since he seems to want to explore so badly.

how does time soften the fear, but not the eagerness? logically i'm old enough to wonder why i have this obsession with snow and this season in general. logically, it's not one of the Big Things, so i put that fear aside--what will people say, what if they laugh and point at the grown woman grinning at suspended water.

the same way that i set aside my disgust of mucus and hold the baby close, hear her heart beat and smell her soft hair--she herself is one of the Big Things in life; her little sneezes are just that: little.