“Whoa, your baby’s got a lot of hair!” is one of the phrases we’ve heard most in the last 6.5 months.
I love the look of the little surfer boys with their long tresses, but The Tiny’s started only growing on top, looking more like a flock a seagulls than a surfer party. But once it began to get into his eyes, I knew it was time for a trim, but I started to get butterflies about it. Weird?
“I think I am going to cut Finley’s hair,” I told Andrew one night after dinner.
“Oh really? But it’s so cute!” Andrew said as he sudsed the dishes. (We have a whoever cooks, the others does the dishes rule.)
“I know, but I think it’s bugging him. I think I’ll just do it real quick.”
I went to our bathroom and pulled out the hair cutting skissors, the ones I have been using on Andrew for the past 4 years–Dave Ramsey style. I put the bumbo on the table, and ran a wetted hand through his fluffy head puff as he smiled up at me, chewing on the pacifier I gave him to keep him still.
“Ok. I’m going to cut his hair.” -I repeated, staring at my smiling boy, with the same hair on his head that he had when he was born.
“Ok, I am going to cut his hair.” I said–this time more to myself.
I pulled a fine and wispy row of hair up between my fingers in a perfect fence. I looked again at the little hairs, lined up, fine as a spider’s web–and made my first cut.
Teeny little clumps of triangled hair bits wafted to the table. He was being surprisingly good, and before I knew it, after three quick rows, I was done.
And where once sat a curly topped brown haired boy, sat now a big blonde boy!
“Awww, he looks cute!” Said Andrew as he came over, dishes put away.
“Oh my gosh, I think you’re right! I was totally nervous!” I admitted.
So, we grabbed the camera and did a lil’ photo shoot!
“Oh mama an’ papa! I jus’ love my new hair cut! I feel so free, and just think what all my girl friends will think!” -The Tiny