First blood
chase · Sun, Oct 18, 2015I got a little ambitious tonight.
Misty was feeding Milo in our rocker, and since that usually keeps her calm, we took the opportunity to trim her long, dirty fingernails. Since I’d done it before and since Misty had her hands full, I was the one wielding the clippers. And for nine whole fingers, I once again did an excellent job: I trimmed each nail with two quick snips and raced onward — against the fuss-clock — to the next.
But, like I said. I got cocky.
The first sign, as always, was her once-peaceful brow furrowing like an elephant’s trunk. Then her mouth detached from the nipple and arched open and let out a yelp. Finally, she scrunched her hands up next to her face, her whole body tensed, and she started crying. Not too much, actually. Kids can recover quickly from quite a lot if they’re properly distracted (in this case, by her mother’s scent and the prospect of more food). But I knew I had snipped too close on right thumb, and sure enough, there was soon a bright red rim around her fingernail.
In a moment we realized that it wasn’t going to stop bleeding on its own, so I went to the bathroom and fetched the tiniest band-aids I could find. But having never put a band-aid on another human being, I messed it up; on the first try I covered the cut with the adhesive instead of the pad, and on the second try the band-aid got folded on itself in a way that wouldn’t stick. With some helpful coaching from Misty, the third time was a charm, and Milo — freshly manicured — was none the wiser.
The next day I mentioned the incident to Virgilio, a semi-pro athlete and part-time model and coworker of mine. He laughed, joking that if he ever had a kid he’d probably do that intentionally so that they wouldn’t complain when he makes them ride 100 miles on a bicycle.
So yeah, for the record, Milo: I was just toughening you up!