This weekend I let go of a huge hold I had on Tot's babyhood. Up until Saturday morning, Tot had never, ever had a haircut. I had been trimming her bangs regularly, but had never touched those adorably sweet little curls in the back. They were scrawny and scraggly and inevitably got in her face every time she had a cold (blech), but they were baby curls.
If you've never had a little girl who maintains a reign of terror over every unmarked surface in your home by tightly wielding an unerasable sharpie, and who has never come in from playing outdoors without being caked in mud and grass, then you may not understand how much those girly curls meant to me. Tot is the very definition of "strong willed". In fact, you know that poem about the girl with the curl in her forehead? "When she was good, she was very, very good. But when she was bad, she was horrid. "? That's my Tot.
I feared that if I cut those little curls, the very, very good Tot might be lost to me forever. Aside from her penchant for dressing up in fancy clothes to go to sleep, Tot is incredible rowdy and loves to get messy. And oh, how it softened the blow of seeing her shove a little playmate into the ground when I could also see her skip away, curls blowing in the breeze.
But alas, it had to be done. She and I had finally gotten sick of having to brush her hair every hour because it had gotten tangled, and of having to scrape a comb through the mud and yogurt and cheese (sigh) everytime she ate breakfast. The cute little styles I could make couldn't outweigh the total grossness of her hair getting in everything she ate and everything she played with.
So, Saturday morning after she took a bath, I took the step and got out the haircutting scissors. I had her sit in front of a cartoon and I took a deep breath and with nary a backwards glance, I began to cut. And cut. And cut. Apparently, this haircutting business isn't as easy as it looks, because my one swift cut in the middle (her hair had grown into a point and I was trying to make sortof a line of demarcation) actually turned into about five mini cuts, each at a different angle. Sigh. So, Dave being the actual haircutter here (seriously.), he took up the scissors and tried to even out the left side. At this point, Tot decided that Dora was no longer exploring anything remotely interesting and started to try to see what we were doing. And that was the end of Dave's straight line. At this point, we have a middle that is a wee bit choppy, a left side that looks almost layered, and a right side that is completely untouched. Off to the kids hair cut place we go.
After seeing that fixing our mistake would cost around $20, we decided to give it the ol' college retry. I got the scissors back out at home and mangled my way through the right side of her hair while she cried about not getting a "real" haircut and shaking her head back and forth daring me to mess up even worse. By this point, her hair had pretty much dried and once I was finished, I was pleased (so pleased.) to see that there was indeed a little curl left. In fact, there was just enough curl left to hide the worst of our cuts and she wound up looking rather darling, if I do say so myself. And I do.
And so, Tot got her hair out of her face and I got my little girl with just enough curl to (hopefully) balance out the horridness.