Baby’s First Haircut
It’s not at all accurate to call my Jacob a baby anymore. At this point, he’s well into the prime of his toddlerhood. Still, in his first nineteen months of life, he never once had snipped a single strand of hair. So, in my mind, his first haircut still counts as a “baby’s first.” Plus, I think the cut was a little overdue—my husband would argue that it should have happened when Jacob was indeed still a baby.
I’ve had my reasons for waiting. I’ve written before about my love for my little guy’s luscious curls. And, I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned that my husband is the designated barber in the house. As an ex-marine on a budget, he refuses to let anyone else cut his own or my stepson’s hair. I even have to put up a bit of a fight to convince him that, in spite of his special scissor skills, a salon is necessary for my own hair. While I imagine he could trim a woman’s hair, the only style I think he’s ever cut is the traditional marine “high and tight.”
I’ve been fending off my husband’s eager clippers since Jacob’s curls first appeared. For my son to go from sweet swirly, twirly curls to a military buzz cut just hasn’t been okay for me…not to mention my thoughts that Jacob will likely sport the jarhead head for as long as he lives under our roof… or until he is a teenager, either insisting on growing his hair long or sneaking behind his father’s back to have someone else cut his hair. To say the least, I’ve been pretty adamant about delaying the inevitable. Until…
A few nights ago, Jacob was playing on the kitchen floor while I was making dinner. While forking strands of spaghetti squash into a bowl, I looked over to find him lying on his back and scooting himself around the room. When he sat up (yes, this is a clear testament to how often I sweep), his curls were full of dust and lint. He looked especially scraggly and unkempt. The term “mop top” was taking on a whole new, more literal meaning.
Immediately, I yelled to my husband to grab his trimming tools and my son…with the disclaimer that he probably had only about five minutes to drag Jacob upstairs and begin chopping that mop before I changed my mind.
Well, to make a long story a little less long, let me just say it’s done. There were tears and screams (mostly Jacob’s—I think he was afraid of the sound the clippers made, but Mommy struggled a little too as those locks fell). In the end, the bathroom floor was covered in hunks of fine, curly hair, and where once was my curly headed baby stood a little boy who looked much, much cuter and tidier with his new do. Who knew the high and tight would be so becoming? I hope that I can remember this day when those curls begin to reappear!