Worst Mommy Ever

I never remember to cut Mason's nails until I see a scratch on his face. This morning, he had a little scratch by his eye, so I made a mental note to cut his nails when I got a chance. He woke up in the best of moods this morning, laughing at the good morning song I sing to him and smiling at the animals on his play mat. I knew I needed to get to his nails while he was in a good mood. If you've never cut a baby's nails before, let me tell you how not easy it is. First of all, they're tiny. Super tiny. Second, they're paper thin and really bendy.

So fast forward to about twenty minutes ago. I had just changed him and he let me get the boogers out of his nose without protest, so I knew it was now or never. I get out my tiny little nail clippers with the tiny little magnifying thing on them and start cutting. One.. two.. three.. one hand done, without a peep from Mason. He's happily kicking his feet and laughing at nothing. Six.. seven... Seven. On nail number seven he stops laughing, pulls his hand away, and lets out a scream. I grab the hand back, pry open his tiny fist and there's a drop of blood. Real blood. And my baby was crying real tears.

His first injury ever, and it was my fault. He's in his swing now, napping, but his little fists are all clenched up and his lip is pouty, and I'm pretty sure he's mad at me.