When is a booger not a booger?

As A. has previously written, Finn has graduated from crib to Big Boy Bed. Thankfully, the transition has gone smoother than expected; no major crying fits and only one boom! (which I mostly slept through). That's what made naptime on Sunday so frustrating. After 4 nights of peaceful slumber and a 3 hour nap on Saturday, we were both expecting a nice relaxing Sunday. Coincidentally, naptime corresponds to the 1pm start time of NFL games and since all chores had been completed I was looking forward to settling into the couch to watch some football.

Finn woke up crying about 40 minutes into his nap. A. decided to work her mommy magic and sprinted up to his room (well, as much as a pregnant lady can actually sprint) to try and get him back to sleep. 15 minutes later she was back and Finn was making sleepy noises over the monitor. Given the ominous start to my naptime football break, I reassessed and decided that 2 hours would get me through at least the first half of a game. Not bad...but 20 minutes later, naptime was interrupted again by more crying. Clearly A. didn't have the touch today, so I rushed up the 3 flights of stairs to Finn's room.

As I opened his door, I saw Finn sitting cross legged on his pillow holding his right index finger in the air, his pacifier lying next to him on the bed. "Booger", he said, waving his finger at me, "booger." OK. While not the most glamorous job, wiping boogers is certainly something that I have extensive experience in. I went over to his changing table and grabbed a diaper wipe to aide my booger-ectomy. As I reached for his finger, I realized that this was a strange looking booger. First, it was bigger than usual. Second, instead of the usual booger hues, this was much darker. Third... At this point, time slowed as my mind began furiously putting together all of the clues. It was just like the end of "The Usual Suspects" as Kevin Spacey limps, then walks away from the police station. Except instead of realizing that Verbal Kint is Keyser Soze, I became fully aware that the booger was in fact not a booger at all. It was poop. Lots of poop. And it wasn't just contained on a little boys finger. No. There was a sizeable glob on his pacifier, smears on his shirt, and little dabs on his blanket. Aaaaaarrgggh!!!

My calls for immediate back-up were answered by A., and a thorough poop cleaning ensued. All things considered, it could have been worse. No walls were smeared and his face and hair were poop-free. Plus, I now have an answer for the philosophical riddle of "when is a booger not a booger."