You don’t. You hold the child. You wait. You learn the difference between a problem that needs solving and a body that needs time.
The specialist talked us through the next step. Probing. A thin, metal wire inserted into the pinpoint opening of her tear duct, guided down into her nasal cavity to pop the membrane that hadn’t dissolved at birth. “Simple procedure,” he said. “In and out.” how do you unblock a tear duct
I named her Liora, which means “my light.” It felt cruelly ironic those first few weeks. While other parents soothed their wailing infants, I found myself staring into Liora’s left eye, where a persistent, pearl-like crust had begun to form. A sticky, amber seal that glued her lashes together every morning. The doctor dabbed at it with a warm cloth and said, “Blocked tear duct. Very common. Ninety percent clear up by their first birthday.” You don’t