Way back in the dark ages of my mothering, there came a day when I had to take my second son to the doctor; not for illness-just a "well baby" check and vaccine update. He was two years old.
I was feeling rather nervous about the doctor's appointment. I knew from experience that well-baby checks are thorough. So, that morning I made sure everything about our little guy was perfect. I gave him a bath. I combed every hair on his sweet little head and put him in an adorable outfit. I even clipped his fingernails and made sure his teeth were brushed. Finally I put sandals on his chubby, pink little feet and we were off.
After we'd been in the examining room for a time I started to relax. Everything looked good. Our little son was sturdy and happy and healthy. The nurse gave him the needed shots and as I held him and wiped away his tears I noticed she was watching, a look of tenderness on her face.
Finally it was time to go. I picked up my purse and reached out to grab my son's hand. As I did so the nurse said with a big smile, "Well, Judy, you're doing a great job. Keep up the good work!"
My heart, (and my head) swelled with pride. I marched over to the door, my little son in front of me. As I yanked open the door to leave, James suddenly started screaming. I looked down to see that pride had blinded me. I'd used the examining room door to rip his toenail off.