Norah's First Haircut...

Today's post is either titled "Norah's First Haircut"...or "Attack of the Killer Scissors", take your pick.

Last Thursday, I decided to take Norah in for her first professional haircut. I've trimmed it at home before, but thought it might be nice to have someone with a little more skill do it (just to see if it made a difference).

While she ate breakfast, I explained to Norah that I would be taking her to a place where they would put her in a tall chair, and she'd get to wear a cute "cape", and then they'd "snip-snip" (imagine this being said with the appropriate, explanatory hand gestures) her hair with a pair of scissors. At this point in the conversation, Norah began wailing, "No! No! No!", without relenting until I finally asked, "No--what?" To which she replied, "No scissors!"

Ok, have I mentioned I sew....a lot? She has been taught not to touch mommy's scissors--they are big "no-no's" that can "hurt you". So I decided, in light of the involvement of a potentially lethal cutting utensil, a more in-depth explanation was in order. I told her that they would be very gentle and careful with the scissors and it wouldn't hurt at all. (And then I may or may not have promised her some candy if she sat still and was a brave, good girl). Then I asked her if she would be a good girl and go with me to get a haircut, to which she replied, "Ok, Mommy".

When we arrived at the barber shop, she was in a great mood. She even posed for a picture out front (with bear in tow, of course). After we went inside, she was friendly to the other customers, telling everyone "hi". Everything was great. She climbed right up into the chair. And then they put on the smock, and suddenly the world around her went dark. The stylist, sensing things were going downhill, disappeared into the back room, quickly emerging with a different, "jungle animals" smock, in a feeble attempt to make things right. It didn't help.

Norah continued crying, mercilessly, while sobbing, "No scissors" for the duration of her 30-second haircut. (Seriously...I timed it). That would be my hand holding her down in the bottom of the picture. She was totally trying to escape! Finally, when it was all over, she resumed her polite demeanor, reminding me about the aforementioned promise of "candy".

I know I probably seem pretty heartless, standing there snapping photos while my child is coming unglued...but she was really fine, deep down (And there is only one first haircut to photo document, after all). The funny thing is, she loves these pictures. She's asked to see them several times ("Haow-cut pih-tures?") and every time I show them to her she points and says, "Nowah's kah-why-in"". Thanks for rubbing it in, kid.

Honestly, I didn't see much difference in the job the stylist did and what I've been doing at home, all along...I think we may just keep going with the "home barbershop" method, at least until she gets a little more hair. I can't blame her, really...I mean, I guess it does seem pretty logical to fear a stranger with a pair of scissors...