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Sweet little Jilly.
With her white blonde hair. All thin and wispy. Like a crown of cotton candy.
Not one curl. Not one wave.
Hair I love to pet and touch and twirl between my fingers and tuck behind her bitty ears.
Her sister will likely spend hours straightening out her curls (while I sob and beg in the background for her to stop) as a teen trying to achieve this look.
Her wispy, pin straight hair was getting soooo long.
And kinda stringy.
And all around janky.
Well, for as janky as a 2 year old’s hair can get.
It had to be pulled back. Always. Because those big blue eyes needed to be seen. And because it would get stuck to her snot and glued across her face. And I’d have to peel it away. Like a fruit roll up from the wrapper, only more disgusting.
And the tangles!
Brushing out that hair every day was getting to be torture. For both of us.
And sorta stringy on the ends.
And…you know where this is going right?
Mama decided she needed a trim.
And really, if I’m gonna pay someone to trim her hair…I might as well have them actually cut it.
So while the boys had Man Time and spent the afternoon wheeling, I thought I’d take the girls to the mall.
Shopping, hair cuts, and cookies.
You know, Girl Time.
But right before it was time to head out to the local kid hair cutter place, I waffled.
My palms were sweating.
How could I be considering cutting my sweet girl’s hair?
What if it looked ugly?
What if she looked like a boy?
It’ll grow back right? RIGHT?
Someone tell me it will grow back!!!
Rich people problems.
(P.S. we got her walker back and girlfriend is rocking it!)
I always swore I’d never take my kids to those kid-specific salons.
Except that this one is the same price (if not cheaper) than taking her to a regular place.
I figured the airplane seat might help.
Plus, these people are used to squirrely, wiggly kids, right? That oughta help. Right?
But really, all we needed was a mirror.
This chick loooooves looking at herself.
As in, there are times at therapy that they have to either cover up the big wall to wall mirrors with sheets or move to completely different part of the room so that she will focus and quit looking at herself.
Because honey knows she’s cute.
Sister came too.
And sat in a race car seat and watched.
I thought she’d whine and want her hair cut too…but she was fine.
Plus, she got to play while her mama paced the room all panicky and sick to her 7 month pregnant stomach.
Because, you know, I was having my little girl’s hair cut and this causes an undue (and ridiculous) amount of panic and internal strife.
Unlike the fact that we started buzzing Henry’s hair when he was a wee 6-weeks old.
It didn’t help that I kept hearing a lot of “Aye…mami! Tsk, tsk, tsk…” coming from the airplane area.
Tongue clicking and head shaking does not calm a mama’s nerves that she’s not going to walk out with some hideous version of her once darling child.
“Sit still chiquita…come on mami…”
Oh dear sweet Jesus.
What on earth am I doing?
That’s her hair.
On the floor.
Because surely it will never grow back and that tsking will haunt me in my dreams.
This face…the rescue me from the crazy woman who keeps messing with my head face…not helping mama’s nerves.
For the sake of comparison.
Twins. Totally identical.
And then I hear more “come on mami…jusss look down chiquita…”
I’m gonna puke.
(To be continued…)
(What? Why are you looking at me like that?! No after pics? Look, we’ve been playing outside in the sprinklers and baby pool all week and Jill was apparently a fish in a previous life and won’t let more than five seconds pass before she dunks her ENTIRE head into the water…thereby ruining any potential photo opps. Clearly she has no idea what is blog worthy. I will snap pics this morning and update later. Promise. Stay tuned.)
(P.S. while you’re hanging on by a thread…you are, right?…feel free to donate a buck or two to our fundraiser. No, seriously. What else do you have to do on this Thursday? Because helping another mama on the other side of the world with just a few clicks is a pretty stellar way to start. For reals.)