Praise to the Piggies

Piper went to the spa yesterday for the first time. She had her nails done. There were manis and pedis and aunts and cousins.

She picked out her polish. Pink and sparkly pink.

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Then the painting began. “Hold still!” Piper’s polisher commanded.

“This is as still as I get,” Piper informed her. Holding still is not one of Piper’s talents.

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After the painting of nails, there was much “drying.” Piper draped herself over chairs and stools for the sake of “drying.” It took a very long time. She was committed to the outcome, though.

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The “drying” brought about one of those conflicting motherhood moments. I tend toward a policy of containment when it comes to Piper, but the masses find her so adorable that her behavior is encouraged. “Oh, let her be. She’s fine,” I’m told again and again when I try to make Piper aware of other people. The masses usually win.

Post drying, Piper climbed up in my pedicure chair with me. It was the only thing in the spa she had yet to explore. Oh, the buttons. The remote controlled massage chair. “I really like the butt bumps,” Piper said, selecting a lower back massage.

“Now, let’s admire our toes,” she said. And we did.

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