Bonding over nail polish

(Photo by Chance Agrella/FreeRangeStock.com)

Two years ago, when my daughter was in pre-K, she came home from school one day and told me about two girls in her class who had their ears pierced and often had their nails done.

"Can I please get earrings, too?" she asked.

I explained to her the process of ear piercing and told her I thought she was too young. I think the thought of someone shooting a stud through her earlobe scared her off of that, so she switched gears.

"Then can I please get my nails polished?"

Ah, if only that came with the threat of pain, too.

I told her I didn't think she was old enough for that, so she pointed out that two girls (twins) in her class wear it. Their mother puts it on for them.

"Well, I'm not their mother," I said, using just one of many phrases I'd heard from my own mom when I was growing up.

Over the two years since then, every so often, she'll ask me to buy nail polish if we happen to be passing it in Walmart, and each time, I told her no.

Until last month, that is.

It was a moment of weakness that began a month or so earlier when my daughter had spent the night with a cousin, my sister's daughter. My sister is and always has been a big fan of getting her nails done, whereas I gave up nail polish sometime in my early 20s.

As part of the sleepover, my sister painted the nails of her daughter and mine.

And then came the next day, when I went to pick my daughter up. She was so excited to show me her nails, and added, "Auntie said she'd paint them with another color before I go home!"

Later, as I watched my sister carefully applying the polish and my daughter sitting so calmly, I felt like maybe I had been missing out on something. 

And so I bought nail polish, and then my daughter and I had our own little bonding experience as I painted her finger and toenails.