I gave BBQ a bath and mani/pedi tonight. TREACHEROUS and TERRIFYING experiences. I'm pretty sure I didn't breathe the entire time. Babies in bath water are the most priceless pieces of wiggly, slippery, soapy porcelain, and I wish they came with handles. Or maybe a sprayer nozzle that's safe for babies - like a cross between a pressure washer and a water gun. Yeah.
And then there was the mani/pedi. I reckon the precision it takes to gently-yet-effectively cut a baby's fingernails and toenails runs parallel to the skill necessary for brain surgery. (And should probably require at least residency-level training as well!) Squinting and clipping, all while holding these teeny hands that just got the burnin' desire to DANCE (even while there's no music - she IS her mother's daughter) ... and knowing that you're going to have to do it again in a week or so ... it's the kind of tormenting task Sisyphus could identify with.
Rarely have I been so completely out of my skill set. But hey, if you can't stand the heat, don't have the baby. Can't wait till the next Spa Night!
A journal of life on a third- and potentially fourth-generation family farm, from the perspective of the 'potential fourth' generation. (abridged, of course, for time and interest's sake)
No comments:
Post a Comment