There have been many things I have had difficulty understanding throughout motherhood. The emotional attachment to haircuts is one of them. It’s just hair which continually grows and gets cut throughout our lives. What makes baby’s hair so special that we don’t want to cut it when it’s too long and annoying them?
To be honest, I've been impatiently waiting for Gwen's hair to get to a point where we could cut it into that iconic little girl bob. The chin length hair with big chunky bangs? That one. But she is of curly headed genes and curly hair does not grow into a fashion that would benefit from a little girl bob. It does whatever it wants and we pretend to comb it into something that resembles a well-cared for child. Meanwhile her bangs have been getting in her face so much so that she swats them around angrily when they wriggle from the side swipe I’ve brushed and sometimes clipped them into.
So it was decided that she needs to get her bangs trimmed. I’ve known I would never attempt to do this myself after a heinous run in with trimming my own bangs in a post-partum identity crisis. The plan was for her to accompany whoever’s appointment came first to the hair dresser.
Suddenly, as is always the case with motherhood, I understood what the big deal was with mom's and their children getting their haircut. Emotions that I can’t explain came up when it came time and somehow I weaseled another two week’s wait to prepare myself. I don’t mind Gwen becoming a big girl. In fact, I’m not all that big of a baby person and enjoy her getting older (don’t tell this to the second baby). I didn’t think I had any attachment to her hair, but suddenly I found myself saying “yes” when our hair stylist asked if we wanted to keep some of it.
Her first haircut happened. She did great. No crying, just annoyance at the fact that her hair and someone was in her face. She tried to dodge the hair stylist by moving her head back and forth but it was nothing a little direction of "Gwen, look at me" couldn't cure.
There weren't any precious curls to commemorate, just little bitty frays of hair, so nothing came home in a baggie with us and when all was said and done I still can’t explain that pang of anxiety and angst that came to say hello. But damn, it feels good every time my hard heart softens as I realize what being a mom really means. Apparently this involves irrational emotions over your child’s hair.