Her first haircut, and she took the initiative

It was a long time coming. Three years to be exact.
But I finally picked up the phone last week and made my daughter’s first appointment for a haircut.
If you want to get really technical, it was her second time in the chair – when she was younger Jonathan sat in the seat over at Shear Pleasure in Callicoon so stylist Janayna could snip of the dark tail ends of her blonde hair.
There was no shaping, no layering, nothing more than a snip, snip, snip . . . and we were done.
I was putting off the real cut for as long as I could, helped along by every one who sees us out on the road doing interviews for the Democrat who stops me to gush about those long curly locks.
I’m sorry, folks, but it was time.
Jillian, as so many 3 year olds are wont to do, wrapped her little hands around a pair of safety scissors while I was on the phone doing an interview. Made for kids and bought specifically for our little kid, they were within her reach – just like the crayons, markers and other crafting goodies are in our house.
I should have known better.
Because even sitting in the same room as my kid while I’m on the phone, hard at work, she can get into trouble.
All it takes is 5 seconds, time spent with my eyes focused on the pen and pad in front of me, and she works black magic.
It was red, not black that I saw when I got off the phone and found bits of blonde scattered across the living room floor.
Mixed in were bits of brown and pink. She can’t be accused of hogging the glory.
She’d shared the pampering with her Dora doll and pink ride-on horse.
She thought I would be proud.
I was shattered.
Three years of waiting.
I’ve shaved my head twice in that span for St. Baldrick’s, submitted to hot wax being spread across my eyebrows countless times, submitted to the buzzing clippers again and again.
And still I waited.
So please, when you see her with her new ’do, don’t blame the mother.
She’s growing up despite me.

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  1. Girls will be girls! I remember when my sister cut her hair for the 1st time. My mother lets just say was not so happy.

  2. Oh no!!! My mom still recounts the day I did that to her! She laughs at it now though, so the trauma will ease.

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