I don’t want to show you my face. It’s too embarrassing. But right there you can see the red blood gash left by my wild nine mouth old. There are two more cuts like that on my nose and two more on my forehead. If it wasn’t for concealer, I couldn’t walk outside. But concealer cannot conceal the shame I feel for allowing it to happen. I know, don’t blame the victim. But I could have tried hard to trim his nails. I could always try to hold him facing out.
But no. I like to look at his beautiful face. And then… and then, that’s when it happens. He screams gleefully and lunges for my face. Sometimes he digs into my lip. We aren’t talking chimp level, but these little nicks are adding up.
I don’t want to leave the house.
I don’t want to admit that I let it happen every day. Several times a day.
When I was pregnant with Viv, I still got weekly manicures, but my pretty acrylic nails had to come off – the smell and sensation were too much.
Then new motherhood found me a wreck. For manicures, I used to go to the same Vietnamese lady I see to get my eyebrows waxed. I look like Dukakis if I don’t get my eyebrows done, and for that regimen I can hold Vivien while the woman waxes my brows. Recently she begged me to get my nails done as I was rushing out the door. She said, “Before baby, always time for nails. Now, no more.” I looked down at my nails, and they did look pretty bad.
So now I’m back to trying to get them done about every two weeks. But it doesn’t always work. And when it doesn’t, I have days like I describe in this video.