When Charlie and I sat down for the first time with a pair of tiny blue plastic scissors, fifteen minutes of epic meltdowns immediately commenced. He insisted on holding them upside down and in the wrong hand. When I explained through clenched teeth that the thumb went in the little opening and the fingers went in the big one, he threw himself on the floor and told me I was wrong. I knew nothing about scissors, or paper, or really anything, according to Charlie.
Friends, I'm here to tell you that we persevered. Though there were times that I wasn't sure we were going to make it to the finish line, we never stopped believing. And at the end of the arduous journey, I wiped the sweat from my brow and realized as my heart swelled with... heartburn (21 weeks, people)... that I no longer had a fine motor-impaired preschooler. I now had a cocky one.
Overheard from the kitchen just yesterday: "Mom, I'm like the king of snipping."
Yes. Yes he is.
