Oh, wait. I never went to parenting school. I had to go to school for more years than I can count to be qualified to do practically nothing, but I became a parent without any formal training at all. Oh yeah, right. Heh.
CJ ran up to me yesterday screeching “Dirty! Dirty!” and waving his hand around. Before I could grab his wrist and examine what was on his hand, he wiped his hand all over my sleeve and declared “All better.” And walked away.
Thanks, kid. Really. I didn’t like this shirt or anything. And I still haven’t figured out what it was that was on his hand that is now on my shirt. Which means it probably came from his nose.
Speaking of noses, I sneezed on my hand and wasn’t even the least bit disgusted by it, I just went to the sink and washed it off without giving it much thought at all. I am sure in my pre-child years I would have been horrified by the entire thing. Now… hey, worse things happen. For example, I ran CJ out to the bus yesterday morning with bare feet (my feet were bare not his) because we were running late and I didn’t want the bus to leave without him. The bus driver laughed at me. And it was cold! What’s a little snot on a hand… I mean, my feet were C-O-L-D.
Still not happy about the possible snot on my shirt though. Yet I didn’t bother to change it.