Some people have nicely manicured hands. Mine are a mess, and I blame parenthood.Seriously, my hands are so gross. Right now I’m sporting a très stylish piece of Kleenex held in place with Scotch brand Magic Tape on my pinkie because, although we must buy about one box of novelty BandAids per week, I can’t find any, NOT EVEN ONE in my entire house. Although the paper sleeves and adhesive backings are in piles under The Little Nutball’s dresser and bed, in the bathroom trash, and under the claw-foot tub.
My hands are chapped from the heavy-duty, anti-salmonella protocol we’re following at home following the purchase of a trio of chicks (don’t ask), plus the heavy-duty scrubbing post-burial of dead pond fish necessitated by our present spring thaw (again: don’t ask). And my nails are cut to the quick, partly out of stress and partly so my nails won’t scratch my child when I brush her hair. Also, one of my nails is dying a slow death by hangnail.
Honestly, I’d get a manicure but I think I’d scare away the nail technician.
As far as complaints go, I know, I know: I could have it a whole lot worse, but, what I don’t get is, how do the moms-of-preschoolers with nice hands manage it? I don’t mean that in a standard-issue, “they must be failing their kids in some way to pay so much attention to their hands” way. (God knows, I’ve worked with types who’d imply such a thing.) I mean: Dude, what’s your secret?