Moonie and I have had three whole months to regenerate our blood, so when a blood drive came to our work last week, we signed right up. He was so happy to be able to help out again! He gallantly let me go first (mostly so he could play with the blood pressure cuff).

Then he cheered me on while he got ready to donate himself. I got curious and asked what his blood type was.

“Orange zebra seven,” he responded.
“Not purple cow six?” I teased.
“That’s not a real blood type,” he sighed, rolling his eyes.
Well, excuse me.

When we were both done donating, we both got wrapped up with matching red tape.
“Twins!” Moonie shouted happily, holding his proud arm next to mine.
“Twins,” I agreed.

Then we moved on to Moonie’s favorite, and also most difficult, part of donating blood: picking out a snack. He hemmed and hawed but finally chose one.

“Did we do good?” he asked as we walked out of the blood drive.
“We did great,” I responded.
He smiled and held up his little gauze-wrapped arm for a (gentle) high-five. He’s my pint-sized hero.