Friend on the phone. Hand the phone to Tan who’s cutting 7 month old baby C’s nails. Tan, distracted as she take the phone casually asks me to finish cutting’s C’s nails. There’s only one more to cut. Thumb nail. Jumped up on my second cup of coffee I take the baby and proceed to demonstrate my breath taking efficiency and ingenuity with the nail cutters. The rules of nail cutting:
1. Restrain baby
2. Distract baby
3. Don’t allow baby to see what you’re doing
But I’m a prodigy. I put him in the high chair where he is free to move, see and most importantly, participate. I take his little hand and deftly slip the cutting implement under the nail and snip. My brain is confused. Baby C’s brain is confused, he was watching as well. For moments forever sliced more finely upon repeat play back in my mind I look for the Houdini like slip of the hand. THe nail was clearly in the blades. I cut. I look and the nail is intact. But I felt the resistance of the cut. Something fell out onto the shiny white table of his high chair. It looked like nail. He begins to wail and then scream. There’s blood. My heart shrinks. I have cut my little baby’s thumb. It’s a tiny sliver. Tan’s hung up and standing next to me in a blur. She is completely non judgmental, quietly explaining the rules again. Meanwhile grief and guilt are wrestling on the floor of my mind and in the commotion they blame my wife. It’s her fault. She should never handed those baby nail cutters to a maniac. Moments later he’s fine, he doesn’t mind. I’m quietly haunted. I’m so careful, usually. We have a great time together. My wife and I have agreed that our baby should have talons, lest he end up with stumps.
