When I was a kid, I thought it was a good idea to run my face into a director’s chair. For years afterward, if I ran too hard or the air was too dry, I’d get a nosebleed. Good times.
A condition like that shouldn’t be hereditary. I seem to have gotten over it, as though scar tissue had finally healed. But somehow, Toughie seems to have acquired this problem. And that’s a shame, because he’s a stoic kid and doesn’t like to show his pain. Blood belies his stoic nature.
Tonight, Toughie and Pint Size Genius were playing hide and seek with Buttercup. I’m not sure what happened next… All I know is, Toughie walks to the bathroom with his head tipped back. Pressure on the bridge of his nose, a few minutes with an icepack, and he’s all better.
I’m seriously re-thinking this “playing in the non-padded bedroom” thing.