"Look at your nails," I grabbed Jesse's grubby little hands, "so dirty!" I pulled the boy onto my lap and grabbed a nailclipper, ready to make quick work of his Dracula talons. "NoOoOoo!!!" he shrieked, breaking away from my clutches, his face pale with fear.
"Daddy's not gonna hurt you, silly," I told him sincerely. But he was having none of that, folding his arms behind his back.
When he was about 3, I caught him playing with a nailclipper. I grabbed it from him and gave him a lecture that he could comprehend. "It's very dangerous," I explained. And then I had to go and add, "you could cut yourself and there'll be blood everywhere."
*sigh* I tend to over express myself sometimes.
It looks like I must have driven the fear of clipping nails in his young heart and from the looks of things, he may very well need therapy in the future. In the meantime, we'll have to cut his nails in his sleep and risk having him wake up screaming. It's either that or let them grow so long that they snap right off. At this stage, the second option sounds quite appealing.