I clung to denial about Isobel’s hair for a long time. It has needed a trim for months now but I would not admit it. Over and over I’d say to myself, it’s not a problem if you use a bow. Anthony would point out that we don’t always use a bow. And when we do we inevitably have to track it down after Isobel pulls it out of her hair in defiance.
Even I could not stay in denial any longer when Isobel woke up the other day with fierce Flock of Seagulls hair. It was so ridiculous it could only be tamed after a bath and some energetic brushing. Her hair had become and issue.
It was constantly in her face, in her eyes, and in her way. It looked terrible. I mean, it did look really cute swept to the side with a bow. See what I mean?
Look at that cute forehead! At that adorable bow! And how cute is it when she rubs her face because her hair pokes her in the eyes?! Er. Wait. That’s actually not cute. It’s sad.
Our family friend David cuts our hair. He cuts my parents’ hair, my cousins’ hair, my sister’s hair and my grandparents’ hair. When my Nana died he attended her funeral. When I dyed my hair purple for an anime convention three days before I was to be a bridesmaid in my cousin’s wedding (and used permanent dye by mistake) he was there to somehow return it to a normal color. Through the good hair days, awkward hair days, proms, weddings, and funerals he has been there patiently combing the knots and trimming the split ends of our hair.
He’s been dying to give Isobel her first hair cut and told my Mom he’d do it on the house to lure us in.
I have been putting it off but after the Flock of Seagulls incident I caved and told Anthony we could take her for a trim this weekend. Technically this would not be her first haircut. Somewhere around three months of age I cut off the little rat tail her infant hair grew. I saved that little bit. Originally I convinced myself I could cut her bangs, too. I thought I could do it after she fell asleep when she couldn’t push the scissors away. The problem is, by the time she’s asleep at night I’m exhausted and in no mood to trim bangs.
So I bit the bullet and we took her in.
She didn’t know what to make of it at first.
I think she tried to make him go away.
She looked so tiny in that chair.
Then she started to fuss and whine.
And then, the rage…
Worst of all, the dreaded Sad Face
But then some ladies started paying attention to her, and it was all okay again.
By the end she was a total pro.
I can tell that she is much more comfortable now without hair constantly in her eyes and I’m very curious to wake up tomorrow and see what the damage is. It can’t be anywhere near as bad as it has been lately. Here’s a couple of after shots for full effect: