It's the Little Choices - Part Seven (Commission)

The nail salon isn't too far away, so we're still finishing our drinks when we arrive. "Drink up, babe," I smile, picking up Fiona's cup and holding it for her to take a sip – which she does with a wry smile. "Can't have your lemonade sitting in the car and all the ice melting while we're inside, can we? Like, really – who likes watery, warm lemonade?"

Fiona agrees with a nod of her freshly pigtailed head and obediently slurps at her straw, her eyes swiveling mutely to stare into mine. God, she looks adorable! "Good girl," I praise again, and drain the last of my soda, too. I don't quite know why – perhaps it's her new hairstyle, or perhaps I'm just particularly hormonal – but I'm feeling super-strong mommy vibes today. I have this almost physical craving to cuddle her, to command her, to watch her shyly blush and obey my loving orders. I want to take her by the hand and lead my sweet Little partner – okay, technically she's taller than me, but no one cares about that – into a dreamy utopia where mommy knows best and little girls obey and everything is perfect and loving and wonderfully right.

And yeah, part of me is also fantasizing now of my sweet Fiona doing a shy little potty dance before me, begging Mommy to help her find the bathroom before she has an accident…

But enough of that. My dear partner may enjoy Little things, but she's not nearly ready for that kind of play just yet. For now, I need to be content with quietly stacking the odds and encouraging her in those simple little choices that, one by one, like snowflakes drifting gently down onto a windowsill, will eventually add up into something soft and beautiful and incredibly special.

"Okay, then! What'll it be today, girls?" Brenda is our nail artiste, and she's precisely the sort of brisk, motherly, no-nonsense type that I appreciate. "Whatchya feeling, hon?" she asks, motioning us both into the familiar, oddly comfortable seats in the back. "Ya both gonna do something, right?" "Yes, I think so," I affirm as Fiona slips quietly into the chair beside mine. "I was thinking a gradient this time: elegant and all, but more interesting than just a single color. Maybe a burgundy fading up to rose…"

"And for you, hon?" she asks when we've finally settled the shades for my manicure. "It's Fiona, right? Here, let's take a look at what we're working with…" "She keeps them pretty short," I intervene, before my sweetheart has time to blush or stammer over the bitten edges of her stubby nails. "Long nails aren't exactly useful when you do a lot of typing, you know…"

Fiona flashes me a grateful glance as Brenda bends over her hand, and I simply smile in response. "Well," Brenda tells us, straightening up and adjusting her glasses, "They're definitely short. Honestly, too short to do any sort of gradient that will look good, hon. But then again, maybe you didn't want a gradient anyway?" "Well…" Fiona is hesitant, and I can only guess there's something else she'd like to try. "Did you want to try some stamping, then?" I offer helpfully. "Or maybe some decals or painted designs?"

"I can do it all, hon," Brenda nods, gesturing at a bewilderingly colorful poster behind her filled with a kaleidoscope of neatly decorated fingers. "Something cute, something floral, something edgy-" And here it emerges: another of the little choices I've been wanting to give my dear Fiona. "Just take a moment to think about it," I suggest, watching as she squints over at the array of design ideas. "And remember: they're just nails, so there's nothing too scary or permanent…" "Nope! They're no tattoos," Brenda chuckles. "Ya don't like a design after a week or two, no problem. We give you a new one, easy as that!"

And so, armed with that reassurance, Fiona nods and keeps on glancing over the designs with wide and interested eyes. Good girl, I congratulate her silently as Brenda sets to work on my hand. Find something you really want. Find something as adorable and cute and sweet as you are…

Oh, she does. And in the end she asks for those sparkly pink, flowered nails herself, with only the tiniest of blushes and one or two queries for my approval. Because even Little girls can be assertive when they find something they really, truly want.

***

We may be home and ready to relax with our freshly done hair and nails, sure. But there's something even besides supper that I need to do before we can truly unwind.

Fortunately, I already know just where to begin and what websites to look up. Sure enough, here are a few suggested treatments for thumb-sucking and nail-biting – which I've conveniently decided to lump together for Fiona's benefit. And just as I've suspected, pretty much all of them but one are going to be either unpleasant or unworkable at best…

Now about that one option I'd love for her. Let's see if I can't find something not too babyish, but certainly cute and in her favorite colors.

"Hey, Fiona?" Here she is, flopped on the sofa with her adorable head bent over her phone. "Got a minute?" "Uh-huh!" She glances up, and I swiftly bend down and plant a kiss on her bang-wearing forehead. Because how on earth can I resist that face?! "Remember how I was going to look up stuff to help with your nails? I've done a bit of research now, and I need your opinion…"

She scrambles up obediently, and soon we're seated before my computer's glowing screen. "Now, it looks like biting nails and thumb-sucking are actually pretty similar," I begin with a smile. "Apparently it's all about the habit of having your hands up by your face or in your mouth. Makes sense, right?" "Yeah, I guess," she murmurs, and I'm surprised to see a little shade of blush creeping into her face. Wait, is she already starting to suck her thumb, too? Ehh, better not push it by asking point-blank-

"Anyway," I continue, deftly pulling up another site. "It's often about anxiety and stress – no surprises there, hmm? And it's not a big deal per se, since they say here it shouldn't cause lasting damage. Apparently the main worry is transmitting germs and bacteria from your hands to your mouth. Pretty icky, I guess." She laughs lamely. "I guess," she agrees, glancing down at her sparkling pink nails. "But what do they say about how to stop?"

"Well, first off there's no one right way," I explain, scrolling to the "Remedies" section. "Here they talk about bandaging your thumb – but that's just for thumb-sucking, and anyway that wouldn't work at all. I mean, can you imagine trying to type or count out change at the bank with bandaged thumbs?"

"I'd be all thumbs," she jokes, and I chuckle even as I roll my eyes at the terrible pun. Hey, at least she's not taking this too seriously! "Then there's putting this bitter stuff – Thum, they call it – on your fingers. The idea is that you'll taste it and do anything not to taste it again…"

"Ugh, but I hate bitter stuff!" Fiona shifts in her seat uncomfortably. "Isn't there something else? Besides," and here her voice drops, "I don't think I do it too much when I'm busy and awake. It's  just like, at night, I think, or when I'm bored or tired…" Perfect. "Well, I guess there is another solution here," I offer as nonchalantly as possible. "They talk here about these rubber devices – I guess sort of like a pacifier, but for adults? And they're supposed to ease anxiety and keep your fingers away…"

She's blushing already, even as I gesture at the screen and the relatively clinical-looking, white adult pacifier pictured there. "Wait, really? Like- I dunno… That just seems weird… doesn't it?" I shrug and give her a friendly smile. "Well, I don't think so. I mean, sucking and biting things is pretty instinctual, hon – it's not like it goes away just because we're grownups. So I mean, if something as simple as a little bit of rubber and plastic can help keep you healthy and reduce some stress while also keeping your awesome new nails safe… I mean, why not?"

"Bu- but wouldn't it hurt your teeth? I think I read that some- ooh! Oh, that's cute…" And boom – just like that, with a click of my mouse I've persuaded her. Her eyes are filled with shy longing as she glances, half-ashamed, at the pink adult pacifier on the screen with its ridiculously cute cartoon hedgehog on the button. "Isn't it?" I smile, and flip to another one – this one in a sweet shade of lavender with butterflies. "A little nicer than bitter stuff on those sweet nails of yours?"

"Well… if it's only around the house, and at night…" She's teetering on the brink of decision, caught between desire and shame. "And as long as they're not too expensive…" She glances shyly over at me. "You- you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? I'd be so embarrassed if someone found out I actually had a- you know, a- a binkie…"

"You mean that you're dealing with stress and that you're simply trying something to help you stay well and healthy?" I respond, and give her a quick consolatory hug. "Honey, I swear I'd never tell anyone without asking you. It's not anyone's business but ours what we do here at home, okay?"

"Oo-kay…"

"And besides," I add with a cheeky grin. "I do know how much my sweetheart loves sucking on things, don't I?" "Liiizzz!" she wails, but she's smiling. "Okay, okay," I laugh, giving her bottom a playful smack as she rises from her seat. "Don't worry. I'll take care of everything here, honey. Go on and relax, and I'll have supper ready here soon."

***

She really is slipping down further and further, isn't she?

Again, it's not that I want to transform her into something she's not! But just look at her, will you? Here she is now, tucked safely into bed for the night in her lavender pajamas, her stuffie Stompy clasped tight under one arm. Those adorable pigtails may be gone right now, but the bangs certainly aren't: a red fringe of cuteness that makes her look so sweet and young and positively adorable. And even as she sleeps, I can see one hand flung up near her mouth, those pink nails perilously close to her lips that are softly working back and forth, as if suckling on something soft and delightful and ever so comforting…

Protest all you like, but she's a Little, through and through. And thanks to my gentle assistance, I think even she is beginning to accept that indisputable fact.

So as I bend down and press play on the stereo for what feels like the two-hundredth time, and as the familiar strains of her hypnotic lullaby waft out into the darkened bedroom, I smile softly to myself. That over-sized pacifier will be here in less than a week, and with any luck that audio will help her keep suckling contentedly on it all through the night.

And after that? Well, we'll just have to see what other delightful little choices she's going to make, won't we?