Sometimes he doesn't mind having his fingernails cut but other times he really really hates it. But it was Saturday night and it simply had to be done.
He cried and whined and whimpered.
But I was strong and determined.
He wiggled and wriggled.
But I held him tighter.
And then he grabbed my hair with both hands and head butted me. I swear I saw that in ultimate fighting once...
I pushed him off my lap, onto the floor and left the room crying.
Not even one fingernail cut.
I went into the boys' room where John was boycotting his wardrobe change for the evening. I told Josh I'd gladly trade him the noisy infant for the indescribably beast in the living room.
I think this might have been the first time I was genuinely mad at my child. Mad mad. Spitting fighting CRYING mad.
I kissed him goodnight anyway - but I didn't like it.
Of course the next day he was sweet and kind and smart and important. He was handsome and funny and loving. He woke me up with a kiss and he never whined at me. He gave me hugs and cuddled his daddy after their naps. He showed us a "Jesus picture!" and sat quietly by himself during the RS musical number in Sacrament Meeting.
He was a perfect angel and I love love LOVED him.
Of course I always love him, but man I love it when I like him too.
I hate to admit it, but if I were the heroine of this story, I would have spanked his little bum before I dropped him on the floor. Does that make me the winner of the Best Mom Award?
ReplyDeleteFunny, I had the same fingernail fight with max two days ago and he yanked a nice fist of hair from my head. He usually is my good one with fingernails too.
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