I’m sorry, son. I loved your golden locks too. And, if by me taking the scissors to your mane causes you to lose your super baby strength…I’ll find a way to repay you. But, your hair was outta control.
I’m a big fan of blue jeans, t-shirts, and a baseball caps for little boys. In other words, a boy who looks like a boy. Luke is allll boy. However, the other day, and I won’t mention names…someone looked at Luke and asked me: boy or girl? Record screech. Music stops. Time for a haircut.
I debated going to a cutesie tootsie kid salon, or taking matters into my own hands. I mean, it’s just hair right? It’ll grow back. Call it spring fever…I was feeling daring.
- high chair
- steady set of hands to take the snips
- second set of hands to wrangle him in
- iPhone (to document the momentous occasion)
- plastic baggie to preserve a lock of hair
It was a beautiful afternoon, so I decided the trim should take place on the back porch. Luke sat in his high chair calmly watching the dogs. But when the scissors came within reach…he wanted them…and threw a tantrum…
I had no time for precision. I knew at that moment I had to snip as quickly as I could. Nance tried to hold his hands down. In the line of duty, she suffered a battle wound. Blood eeevrywhere. Luke screaming bloody murder. Did I mention I really wanted to save a golden locket from his first haircut? I mean, doesn’t every mom have one of those? Fat chance.
Maybe spending $10 would have been worth it, maybe not. I still think he would be worse off with strangers. Either way, I think I’ll wait until I’m not pregnant to cut his hair again…that way I can have a pre and post-haircut cocktail.