Last Friday, I simply could NOT take it anymore. I’ve spent the last month and a half trying to ignore it, trying to hold off for just a few more months—until I couldn’t anymore: it was time. Time to get your hair cut for the very first time.
A few hours after making the appointment (and after waiting a little while longer for Nonni to get there so she could take pictures of the momentous occasion), we were sitting in the chair in my hair dresser’s garage salon. The plan was simple: I’d hold you in my lap while Tracey combed and snipped away at the locks that had been growing since you were born. I didn’t want her to cut a whole lot, just trim up the bangs so they weren’t in your face anymore and take a little off the side to even it up a bit. Simple, right?
Yeah, right.
Ha, ha.
You squirmed, cried, twisted your head and tried to stand up.
As I held you, Tracey bravely wielded the scissors and snipped away, cutting randomly whenever you stopped wiggling for two seconds. She must be a hairstyling ninja, because now that all is said and done, you’ve got perfectly straight bangs and pigtails that are relatively even.
Monday night, you got to debut your new hairstyle at the restaurant when your daddy’s family took me out to dinner the night before my birthday. I don’t know where you put it all, but you started eating from the moment you sat down—and didn’t stop until we took the last bite of pizookie and ice cream.
Realizing that your meal ticket was about to come to an end, you opened your mouth wide, took a deep breath, and let out a scream that popped a few circuits in my hearing aids. I spent the remaining part of the evening keeping you placated on the benches outside.
On a completely random note, it dawned on me that, aside from the pictures above, I haven’t been taking very many pictures of you this month. This is a problem, because I’ve been putting together monthly photo collages of you to display at your epic Sesame Street birthday. Heaven forbid I should only get eleven out of the twelve collages complete! So I’ve spent the last few days taking pictures of you whenever possible.
This is what I got last night, just before putting you down for bed:
Showing me how you open the drawers:
Perusing the bookcase.
Reading to me.
Making a beeline for the hallway.
…and finally, down for bed. Note the similarity between your hair and the hair of the 1980s pop icon (from the band Flock of Seagulls):
Loving you lots, my little rock star!
Your mommy
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