Okay, So I Was Wrong...

Natalie's hair had gotten very long. Too long. It was so long that it was constantly knotted or stuck to the food plastered down her chin and inside the crevices of her neck. It got caught in everything--zippers, doors, glasses, you name it. I knew it needed to be cut. But, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. It took so incredibly long for her hair to grow in. For the first year of her life I had to stick pathetic little bows to the top of her hair with Karo syrup so that people could tell she was, in fact, a girl. Then we graduated to the almost non-existent ponytail that stuck straight up on the top of her head. Finally, she had hair. Long, girly hair that could be braided and clipped and put in cute little pig tails with ribbons. How could I get rid of something that I waited so long to have? I didn't think it was possible.

Then this morning I looked at her and realized it had to be done. She was a mess. That mop on the top of her head could no longer be tamed by one mere mom--no matter how much anti-tangle spray was brought into the mix. In a moment of haste and spontaneity, I plopped Natty up on the bathroom counter and armed myself with a comb and a pair of shears. Surely, I (with all my college education and life experience) could easily trim a few inches off my daughter's hair without any problems. How hard could it possibly be. I am strong, I am invincible, I am woman. I could do this. I didn't need to pay someone $15 to do something I could do myself. Right? Wrong. I was wrong. Apparently there is more to it than just "cutting a few inches off in a straight line" as I so confidently told my husband right before I headed face first into Natalie's first truly bad hair day. Oh well. At least she's only three. I just won't take any pictures for awhile. And if anyone asks, I'll just say something about how you "really can't trust those ladies at Fantastic Sam's."