The One with the Painted Nails

Many years ago, before I had the boy, a former work colleague, who had children herself, remarked on my painted nails. She said you could tell I didn't have kids as I'd had time to put polish on!


In reality I rarely painted my nails. It was always something I aspired to do but came well down my "to do" list (I have a "to do" list! - classic Homer Simpson line), so it seldom got done.


She saw painted nails as a symbol of spare time. Something frivolous and fun. Not something, with a young son, she had time for. I remember thinking that I was sure she wished she did have time for it. She was actually jealous and I thought what a strange and small thing to be jealous of when you have a child. She probably thought I didn't do any housework either!  I didn't, but that's not the point!


I wondered if, when I became a Mum, I'd feel the same?


Recently two of the girls at work (for blog purposes to be known as Ken and Barbie ) have been experimenting with nails colours. When I go in they seem to have changed their shade to another trendy summer hue and it looks fantastic.


Neither Ken nor Barbie have children yet but I didn't feel envy at their time and effort spent in themselves. I just thought I fancy having a go!


So I did. I got a new nail colour, some base and top coat and dug out my nail files. Lets face it once the boy is in bed I only mong on the sofa in front of old episodes of Friends and Fraiser, so I might as well paint my nails and let them dry as I watch TV.


Friday night there I was, my shimmering new gold shade at the ready, a glass of wine and the new series of "Eight Out of Ten Cats" to chuckle at!


I love having painted nails. They make my fingers look longer and more elegant. It makes me feel good. More polished, if you pardon the pun.


And there was an unexpected bonus to this flight of frivolity on my part.


I have been trying for weeks now to cut the boys finger nails. He squirms, he wriggles, he screams and runs away. He wants the scissors, he wants his hand back, in short he wants nothing to do with the process at all.


His nails were sharper than a set of chefs knives and twice as deadly! 


Today, ready for his morning nap and slowly winding down on the chair watching "Show Me Show Me" he became fascinated with Mummy's coloured nails!


"Ohhhhhh!" he said


"Pretty?" I said


"Hmmmmmm!" he said


Watching the gold catch the light and pretending to file Bear Bear's paws he let me cut the finger nails on both hands with little fuss! Result! Happy boy, happy Mummy.


My mind turned back to my former work mate. She used to do all her housework before she came into the office. She be proud as punch that she'd put two loads of washing on, hoovered everywhere and pressed her clothes for the week before 8 O'clock! Back then I was having a good day if I was out of bed by 8 O'clock! I'm thinking now she was misguided. She should've got the polish out yes but I'm not talking Mr Sheen!


My advice is iron less and paint your nails more.


I may have an ironing pile the size of a small country but I'm a better mother for it.....