A mothering conundrum

I wake up at around 5.30. My nose is a little blocked. Simple - reach for a tissue.

However...

Aidan is lying on my right near the edge of the bed. If I try and reach up and over him to the tissue box on the floor, I risk waking him, pushing him off the bed, or smothering him with my pendulous belly.

Complicating matters further, the peacefully sleeping Orla (spread across to my left) has a large handful of my hair firmly grasped in her hand.

I breathe through my mouth.