What a good idea, to go by ninky nonk

Charlie woke with a cold and I heard him from my room, talking to himself: a sneezing, a murmuring, a sneezing, an earnest narrative. Sometimes a scolding. He was figuring something. It was a long, low, murmuring, scolding dissertation in there. Eventually, it was quiet. I went in. He was standing. He looked calm and determined. He pointed to his nose and said, “Nose.” “That’s ri—” I began. But he wasn’t done. Now he concentrated hard, watched my face and said: “Sticky.”
“You’ve got a sticky nose!” I said.
His whole body relaxed, the beautiful relief of being understood.
I changed his nappy and he kicked his legs out, cranky now about his sticky nose. His foot went smack into my eye. I was feeling a little low myself. I asked him to stop kicking. I tried to explain. “It’s just that I really don’t feel like being kicked in the eye today,” I said.
I switched on children’s breakfast television. Imaginary creatures climbing aboard a multi-coloured, flying caravan.
“What a good idea,” the narrator enthused, “to go by ninky nonk!”
I thought of all the curious sentences floating around my house.