Parenting: First Blood

by Cindy Marie Jenkins, Communications Director & new Work-at-Home-Mom I read a blog about it. I was warned. It still didn't make it better.

The First Blood.

One evening, my husband was on his way home and I went into a self-induced flurry of accomplishing all those things around the house that bothered me: the dirty diaper I'd not tossed into the bin yet, the laundry that still sat on our couch from two days ago, the empty mugs and plates from hastily ingested meals during naps or nursing, and the thing I most dreaded -

clipping my baby's nails.

I would like to add that my husband has zero expectations of me accomplishing these things while he's at work. He understands more than I do. Keeping our little man cub alive and fed and happy is my daytime responsibility and we'd both much prefer those things happen regularly than anything else.

Still, it bothers me. I would rather there be a place for him to sit and play with his son when he comes home. I would rather spend some quiet moments watching my love play with our little bundle of boy than run around the house cleaning as soon as he's home because I suddenly have two hands.

So the cleaning part was easy. I don't even have to do it well, just do it. Then the moment of truth:

I propped our little dude on a pillow in bed, our quiet play time area. Sitting near him, I should have sung to him, read to him, played with him. Instead that little inferiority monster inside my head just said: "Clip his witch-length nails before he pokes his eye out!"

(I am certain if I asked for my husband's help, he would jump at the opportunity to groom our little guy. But I didn't ask. I wanted to be the Super Mom.)

Long story short (too late!), he pulled away his thumb as I clamped down the clippers and got a perfect slice through his skin. I rushed him into the bathroom, holding back my own tears, just as Dan walked through the door.

He heard what happened and calm as can be, helped me wash the slice thoroughly, apply an alcohol wipe to it, and we mustered

through some failed attempts at getting a band-aid on our little dude. We decided to just keep an eye on it and keep it really clean, since there are apparently no band-aids that can withstand an infant's erratic movements.

I have never seen blood so red and so frightening in my life. I had that short moment of panic that I'd done the one thing a Mother cannot do - hurt her child.

Then I took a breath, started singing to him without a care in my voice, and little dude smiled. That big, bright, toothless smile that shuts out any other care in the world.

So we (I) survived. Until next time.