A few months ago, we noticed that Katie had been picking at her fingernails. Whenever they grew out, she would pick at them and peel off the nail edge before we even had a chance to trim them. We talked about what she was doing and I explained to her that we didn’t want her to do pick at her fingernails anymore, that all she had to do was show us and we’d clip them straight away.
Then, she picked them some more.
So, we changed tactics. I told her that if she could stop picking at them, then I would put polish on her nails, something that we had never done before. That quickly got her attention.
She promptly stopped. Cold turkey. She hasn’t picked since.
So this morning, we painted those itty bitty fingernails of hers with Ballet Slipper Pink polish, the same polish that I use on my own nails.
She was truly elated. But for me, it was bittersweet. I was thrilled that she was so happy, but I felt her age right before my eyes.
While she sat, ever-so-patiently blowing on her nails, I was one thin coat of polish away from tears.
Another step toward growing up.
I’m going to need some tissues. Lots and lots of tissues.