When I was pregnant, my husband and I would joke about what qualities we hoped Cullen would get from each of us. I’d offer that I hoped he got my quick wit, since I am clearly funnier than my husband. And Casey would retaliate by saying that he hoped he got his debate skills, since he clearly wins pretty much every argument. But one thing we definitely agreed on? We hoped he got my husband’s hair. His whole family has thick, beautiful hair, while mine is fuzzy and broken.
One of the first things the nurses commented on after his birth was Cullen’s thick head of dark brown hair. Since then, it has lightened quite a bit, but he’s had luscious locks from day one. So luscious in fact, that it’s time for a few of them to go.
A few months ago, I did a quick trim myself — just the very back, since he was starting to get a serious mullet. It was really hard to keep him still, and it ended up looking pretty choppy. I promised that next time I’d take him to get a proper haircut. After snapping a zillion pictures of him over Christmas, it became clear that he is overdue for another chop.
The sides of his hair have grown over his ears, and he’s starting to look like the fifth member of The Beatles. So Friday morning, we loaded up the car with grandparents and headed down to the kids’ salon for the first official cut. I wasn’t quite sure how it would go, since Cullen has been sort of a cling monster recently. We got there and I strapped him into a cool car with a seat belt. The minute he was belted in, he started reaching for me and shrieking. Not a good sign.
The very nice hairdresser suggested perhaps I should hold him instead. So she put a gown around me, and a mini gown around him. Just getting the gown snapped around his neck elicited screams and shouts of terror. It was embarrassing. He acted like he was being tortured. I tried to distract him with food, which worked for a minute until she started spraying his hair with a squirt bottle.
As the woman continued to try to prep his hair, his screams escalated and he tightened his death grip around my neck. It became clear pretty quickly that no hairs were going to be cut. She smiled and told us this happens a lot, and we promised to come back and try again another day. As soon as we left the salon, he trotted over to the train table and started playing like nothing had happened, despite the wet tears still hanging on his chubby cheeks.
So the mullet lives to see another day. We’ll try again, once I get up the confidence to go back. At this point I’m considering trying to trim it myself while he is sleeping. The things we do for these crazy kiddos!