Haircut, the Conclusion

A few weeks ago, I asked you all to vote and let me know if I should cut Lucy’s mullet in to a more acceptable hairstyle. Preferably one that doesn’t echo the memories of the Country Stampede concert my hometown holds every year, where there are masses of wife-beater tanktops and muffin tops out and about for everyone to see. Even though most of you told me to leave Lu’s hair alone, I ignored you and took her for her first little snip.

She loved the first few minutes of the experience, as she got to hold two giant, fuzzy, sparkly pens and was getting attention from every ovary-laden person in the place. “Ohhh, she’s so sweet!” “What a cutie!” Trust me, the child was happy.

But after the very nice lady with the scissors came back with a big black cape and draped it around Lu’s neck, the waterworks started. Therefore, this is the last picture I have of the experience…

I spent the rest of the time getting sprayed in the face with a water bottle, which Lu decided was the only thing that would make her stop sobbing. The minute the tears would well up again, I’d stick my face in hers and close my eyes, waiting for the stream of water that would inevitably be coming. Ah, the things we do for our children.

We left with some cute bangs and one mama that looked startlingly like a drowned rat. But now my little model won’t be doing advertisements for baby Wranglers, so I suppose it was worth it.