Only an idiot would attempt to give a 3-year-old a pedicure.
I say this as someone who does it all the time. And time and time again, this exercise in parental dysfunction morphs into one of those “If you give a pig a pancake” type fiascos in which the objective becomes increasingly maddening, messy and involved the longer it goes on.
Still. I keep doing it. I don’t know why. I guess I’m one of those dreamers who just wants my precious little angel to have shiny, pretty toe nails. Is that so wrong? I keep holding out hope that one day I’ll be able to paint her feet without smudging, streaking or whimpering (June has been known to whine, too).
Admittedly, my method is still in the beta phase of development. Heck, it’s really not much of a method, but a hodge podge of maneuvers and ploys to get her to sit still for 20 minutes. Impossible, in other words.