Wednesday, April 22, 2015

The Wee Boy's first haircut.


I have four million blog post ideas in my little notebook, but the most pressing thing to share this week is: the Wee Boy got a haircut.

We were attempting to do the whole don't-cut-his-hair-until-his-third-birthday tradition that is custom among young Jewish boys (the Wee Boy is 2.5). Mostly that was a nice cultural excuse to not cut his completely gorgeous straight, silky hair. It wasn't really a sentimental choice -- nothing like "my baby is so grown up i can't do the first haircut." (You know by now I did not enjoy the baby phase.) Mostly I just really like long hair on boys and men. David has grown his hair out, and it makes me swoon. I loved giving the Wee Boy a ponytail or a baby-man-bun.

I'm not really sure why we opted to go for the haircut. I suspect it has something to do with jumping ship and cutting it before it got so long that he was super-attached or we were super-attached. I didn't want it to be a big ordeal. My first haircut was me trimming it myself when I was 16, and I didn't want him to have the someone-cut-my-hair nightmares that I had as a kid (and still have). He did, upon first seeing a few locks of hair fall to the floor, say very sweetly, "No, put it back on me, please." This, of course, made is instantly regret the cut and want to buy him a pony to make up for it. But we carried on because we'd just had a nice lunch of Mexican food wherein the Wee Boy consistently dipped his hair in queso and subsequently licked the queso off his hair. 

Part of me wishes we'd kept it long so I could continue the gender studies course I'd been accidentally teaching the little girl across the street, who vocally and daily tells the Wee Boy how much he looks like a little girl because of his hair (and his pink shoes, but get over it, Isabella, men wear pink too). At the same time, I suppose it's not really my place to use my own child to make a point. He was eating his hair, and it was bothering him when he nursed, and he didn't like wearing barrettes all the time, and, well, we're pretty sure he was losing out on modeling jobs because his hair was crazy (joking).

Bottom line is: we jumped shipped. 

But not too much ... he kind of just got a Ringo look, but we kept the party in the back. It's not full-on mullet because it's still long in the front, but I am glad to have gotten the big wispy bits trimmed off. Plus now everyone can see his straight-to-the-depths-of-your-soul-blue eyes. 

Thanks to Tiffany at Highland Beauty & Barber for making it easy on him (and us). And for reminding me to take some of the hair home for that baby book that I have somewhere.


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