This morning as I was getting dressed, Young Indiana appeared in the doorway and said in his Confessional Voice (which is slightly tragic and solemn), “Mommy…I have something to tell you. I washed the blood off in the sink all by myself.”
Then he proudly displayed his hands, which were red with dried blood, and said, “I was putting my fingers in my nose last night because it was drippy.”
Yes. Yes, it apparently was. And then it was very bloody, to the degree that he brought me to show me the bloodstain on the pillow. I found the bloody smears all over the sheets, foot of the bed, and wall on my own. I had to put him in the shower to get him actually clean, and then he spent some time with a tissue stuffed up his nose to stop the leak that had been re-opened by showering.
Kids are gross.
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