You know that blissful-yet-nervewracking period after you get a new car, when you haven't accidentally plowed a shopping cart into it yet, or had a neighbor bonk you with their door, or had to parallel park yet? That no-ding period?
Well, it's over in the Barefood household. Except not with the car. With the BABY. And instead of a shopping cart, the Chicklette was dinged by two completely incompetent parents.
You could see it coming a mile away. Fingernails needed to be clipped. I was in a rush to hop in the shower, so handed of the clippers to the fingernail-clipping-virgin husband. As I was toweling off, I hear baby screams, followed by "I'm SO sorry, I'm SO sorry" and "Honey, we need a band-aid in here!"
Of course, I didn't have a baby-sized bandaid, so had to McGyver an adult-sized one to fit her little bleeding, quivering finger. And oh, the sadness. And the blood. There was a lot of blood. But still ten fingers. Phew.
So. We bandaged her up, and headed out for the day. Because I am a fate-tempting idiot, I proceeded to pepper the Mr. with jeers throughout the course of the afternoon. Because he didn't feel bad enough, and I can't ever let go of an opportunity to lord my parenting prowess over him. I'm lucky the foreshadowing didn't knock me out with a blow to the head.
Because later, I was all like, "Hey, let's finish cutting those nails!" And the baby was all like, "Hey, I need a matching wound for my other hand!"
That's right, folks. ANOTHER fingernail boo-boo. More screams. More blood. (Still 10 fingers.)
So, yeah. Not exactly an A+ weekend for parenting around these parts. And I think I've learned my lesson about the lording of parenting prowess.
At least for today.