Landon sustained his first injury today, and it was Momma's fault.
That's right, I hurt my baby. And then I cried... like a baby.
We were innocently snuggling in the glider, preparing to read our new favorite story about Little Bear, when I realized his little fingernails needed clipped. Not unusual-- they're about a millimeter away from dagger status at all times. I was just getting started on his right hand when it happened-- he wiggled, I clipped, I missed. I pinched the pad of his sweet little finger in the clippers and I cut through his skin. I made my baby bleed.
For a second he was quiet-- scary quiet-- and looked up at me with big sad eyes. And then he screamed and wailed and cried a cry I've never heard before. I held him close and squeezed him tight and bawled my eyes out. We were a mess.
Daddy came to the rescue with a Muppets band-aid and the promise that I am not the worst mother on the planet (though I sure felt like it). We calmed Landon down, wrapped up his boo-boo, and gave him lots of feel-better kisses. As far as I can tell, he's over it, but I'm pretty sure I'm never clipping his fingernails again.
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