I've been psyching myself up for weeks. Every morning when I combed his shagginess I would think to myself - Seriously, he needs a haircut. Food gets stuck in it, it bothers his neck, and God forbid people think he's a girl. I would even periodically say it aloud – for emphasis. I am certain Jeff thought I would chicken out for at least another 6 months. But I gathered my confidence, my composure, and my clippers – and I jumped.
I don't think I realized what a mop he had until it was gone. And I'm pretty sure he aged about 6 months in the five minutes it took to shear him. He looks so OLD. But handsome. Such a little guy.
The whole thing went miraculously well. We were bracing ourselves for wailing and gnashing of teeth – but – nothing. Colt sat mostly still and didn't really make a sound – he was concentrating pretty hard on what I was doing. I had prepared myself for the probability that I would get halfway through his haircut and be forced to stop for one of various nightmarish reasons – and I would have to send him to daycare on Monday with jagged, half-cut hair that looked like a pig chewed it off. But instead, we pushed on through – cutting off his little blonde wisps – and before I knew it, there sat a little boy where my baby had just been. I'm probably being dramatic. It's not that drastic. But he just looks – different.