Hangnail

Don't read this. It's disgusting. Still reading? Well, don't say I didn't warn you. Grace has always had a little obsession with hangnails. She can't leave them alone or wait until I can clip them. This week she picked at one until it became pretty gross. Ironically, she can't stand the sight of blood or anything yucky. It triggers her gag reflex and she has been known to actually faint. This morning I was cleaning the area on her finger and she started gagging. I tossed her into the shower, hoping the warm water would soothe her and the urge to vomit would pass. It didn't help. She had just eaten breakfast, so while I cleaned the chunks off of the shower walls, she stepped out and projectile-vomited in the general direction of the toilet. At this point, Mitch popped his head in the bathroom, blanched, glanced down at his suit, and said, "Okay, I'm off to work!" And he made fast tracks out the door. I threw a towel around Grace and leaned over to lift the lid on the toilet seat, should she desire to actually vomit INTO the toilet. SPLAT! Right into my hair and on my shoulder.

"Wow, I feel so much better now! Can I get hot lunch today? They have cookies on Tuesdays," and she happily trotted out of the bathroom while I was left to clean up the cookies she'd just tossed. Don't hate me because of my glamorous life. 

I can't talk about Grace and her hangnails without including this old blurry cell phone photo I took of her showing me her hangnail when she was four years old, back in the innocent days when she had no idea what "the finger" meant.