Posts Tagged ‘ first haircut ’

Baby Boy’s Long, Flowing Locks: Gone

Monday, October 10th, 2011

toddler boy haircutWe decided it was time. It wasn’t so much that the pronoun “she” was used one too many times—though it was—but poor Roy was having a hard time seeing. For a while, his hair tucked neatly behind his ears, but not so anymore. You could try, but it would stubbornly spring back to its preferred position, hanging straight down the middle of his forehead. Finally, we gave in to the unavoidable no-fail solution: A haircut.

We took him to a barber. A real, honest-to-goodness barber, the kind with a red, white and blue pole outside, muscle car magazines littering the waiting area, and westerns playing on the giant old TV in the corner. We found this gem, Nate’s, in the small town where Papa and Grandma live. The pro wielding the scissors was not named Nate and seemed a little, well, young for the ambiance, but when I heard him tell the white-haired gentleman occupying the chair as we waited that, “Nowadays, you see guys more dressed up walking into the bar than walking into church,” my worries about his qualifications faded. With lines like that rolling off his tongue, clearly the guy had been at this awhile.

When it was Roy’s turn, Barber Scott whipped out a wooden board, on hand to set on top of the chair’s arms for just such an occasion. Little guy wasn’t too fond of the giant blue cape and immediately asked to see his shoes, to ensure they still existed under there, I suppose. Clint kept him stocked in crackers, while Grandma Nancy and I took photos paparazzi-style. In the end there were zero tears, as well as minimal whining and lots and lots of fine blonde hair shed.

Behold, before:

And after:

For a day or so, I kept forgetting about the cut, so his short hair was a surprise every time I saw him. Who was this child in front of me in my little baby’s clothes? Time to face facts. It’s my big boy. Luckily, he’s just as snuggleable as the long-haired baby version I’d grown accustomed to.

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My Baby Boy, with the Long, Blonde Hair

Friday, July 22nd, 2011

toddler boy with raspberriesRoy’s a year and a half old now, and we still haven’t given him a haircut. The boy’s hair is long. Long enough to be gathered into a wee pony tail. Long enough that the bangs have to be swept the the side in order for him to properly see. Long enough that sometimes, people ask: Boy or girl?

This doesn’t bother me. I love his long, wispy, blonde hair. Awhile back, I mentioned the possibility of cutting it to my daycare provider, who has six children of her own—five of them boys. “Once you do, they don’t look like babies anymore,” she warned me. “They look like little boys.”

To be honest, this growing up thing is moving a little too quickly for me. Seems like just yesterday he was a tiny, wrinkly blob of a baby, and now, here he is, capable of running, berry-picking, feeding himself with a fork and saying words like “bellybutton.” I’ll hold on to what baby he has left in him as long as I can, thank you very much.

My husband is more adamant than I am about keeping the long locks. Every once in a while, like when it’s really hot out and Roy wakes up from his nap with hair stuck to his sweaty little baby neck, I’ll say, “Maybe it’s time for that haircut.”

Clint’s response? “Not yet.”

Me: “Just a little trim. It just looks so hot.”

Clint: Silence.

Of course I relent. Because I understand. Roy will have long, blonde hair until we’re all ready to let go of it.

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