You know when your parents used to say, “This is going to hurt me more than it is going to hurt you,” you always thought sarcastically, “Sure, I’m going to believe that.”
But in my short almost two years of parenting I’ve thought those words in my head a few times — every time Miles has gotten vaccines, the mere five minutes of crying I allow before scooping him up when he’s throwing a temper tantrum and now, the dreaded haircut.
Anytime there are tears I’m near tears. Maybe that makes me a weak or bad momma because I’m not going to let him be a “tough guy,” but I feel like my job is to stop the tears. So when I do things that cause the tears I’m heart broken.
Miles’ hair has gotten so long and kind of out of control. And with this summer heat the curls were making him even hotter, sweat dripping down his little baby forehead within moments of going outside and even in bed.
A haircut seemed like a necessity.
His first was about six months ago when we still lived in Anderson. We went to a salon specifically for kids and he sat in a police car chair and was strapped in.
Here’s the before:
The process took about 20 minutes. There were a few tears and protests but overall the process went OK.
The end result was a little different but not shocking. I still recognized him.
For this haircut we thought about going to a kid-specific salon but Miles took a late nap Saturday and we couldn’t make it out of the house until after they were closed. So the decision was, wait another weekend or just go to a barber shop. We decided to go to the barber shop.
The process was much different, both because of the location and because in the six months that have passed adding to my munchkin’s exponential increase in independence. He won’t even let me trim his fingernails (I have to sneak in and do them by flashlight while he sleeps!)
So he wouldn’t sit in the seat by himself; I had to hold him. And it wasn’t even like I had to hold him down; it was more like I just held him as he cried hysterically on my shoulder. It was devastating.
But the cut, done with clippers instead of scissors, lasted less than five minutes (although it felt like an eternity for us both. And as soon as we were out of that chair he was all smiles.
I am still not used to it. When I went to get him out of the back of the car right after the cut I jumped a little, not recognizing him! Private Miles, as a friend coined him. But it will grow back.
I will miss those curls, especially the really long one on top that I used to spring up and down as we rocked every night.
When did haircuts get easier for you? What other, “worse for me than you” moments do I have to look forward to?