Give me your poopiest diaper or your boogiest nose (pretty sure this isn’t a word, but again, it really should be). Messy bathtime? No problem. Cleaning ears? Got it covered. Projectile spit up? Wearing it. I can handle it all. Except, that is, the baby daggers.
Those damn fingernails keep me up at night. They scratch. They claw. They’re out to get me. In theory, the solution is simple: Clip the suckers. Can’t. I’ve drawn blood. Now I know everyone says they draw a little blood. That’s normal, right? But how about always drawing blood? Not normal. Not nice. This past weekend, I felt like I was in a bad episode of Grey’s Anatomy. (Is there any other kind? And yet, I can’t stop watching.) Thought I’d have to take Peanut to the ER for some stitches. So no, the clippers are out. I’ve been using the file, but not only does that take, um, forever, but when you have the feistiest baby on the planet, it’s a two-person effort with a distraction bottle. And even that doesn’t stop him from squirming his way out of his baby mani. I’ve got the battle scars to prove it. And holy crap, those nails grow! Seriously, is the kid taking prenatal vitamins on the sly?
So here’s my idea, and steal it if you wish. Someone should come up with a salon for babies. I want to drop him off and pick him up with perfectly manicured digits and piggies. This I would pay for, because I’ll know full well that the manicurist earned every last penny. So yes, this is my least favorite baby care task. I absolutely hate it. My husband and I practically have to go into negotiations over who’s holding him down and who’s going in for the surgery. Did I mention I hate it? So give me your poop, your snot, your whatever. But please, keep the baby daggers away from me.