My youngest came downstairs to get ready for school, and she was covered in blood. It was wiped across her forehead and cheek, crusted on her nose, and splotched and splattered all down the front of her shirt. It was all over her hands and under her fingernails. It seriously looked like there had been a murder in the night. I said, “What happened?!”
She said, “Nothing, I just got up.”
I said, “Uh- are you okay?”
She said, “Yeah, why?”
I said, “Well, you’ve got something on your shirt.”
She looked at her shirt and said, “Huh.”
Like waking up covered in blood is totally normal.
I told her to go wash her face and hands.
I said, “Well, let's change you out of that shirt.” While I got her dressed for school, she had put her “Long Cat” down. Long Cat is a long - well- cat. It’s about 3 feet long and it is a nice soft fabric and cylindrical pillow form. After she was dressed, I handed Long Cat back, and she noticed that he, too, had blood spots, and she said, “Oh man! Long Cat has blood on him!”
Clearly, waking up inexplicably covered in blood oneself is perfectly acceptable, but getting a few spots on Long Cat- NOT OK!
I said, “How do you think you got all this blood on your shirt and Long Cat?”
She said, “I don’t know!” Not at all concerted about the situation, but laser-focused on the fate of Long Cat.
I said, “Well, I think you must have had a bloody nose in the night, so get some tissue and blow to make sure there’s not more up there.”
"But Long Cat!"
"Okay, go put him and your shirt in the laundry; I'll try to get all the blood out."
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