This past Friday, G got his first haircut. It was traumatic for all of us (the Mr. had taken the day off for our anniversary and was with us), but G was by far the most vocal about it.
We sat and watched as the barber cut hair for about a half an hour before it was G’s turn. He wasn’t happy about the idea of sitting in the chair by himself, so I let him sit on my lap. He wasn’t happy about the cape. He definitely wasn’t happy about the electric shavers.
He was fine and smiling within 10 minutes of the whole ordeal being over.
This is the part that’s traumatizing for me.
After G’s cut was done, the barber gave us a “First Haircut Certificate”. It reads:
This is to certify that ….. has bravely met all of the requirements of receiving their first
haircut and has graduated from babyhood on the [21st] day of [October] in the year
…wait a minute now. I didn’t agree to that! I’m having a hard enough time with the idea we just gave up his long hair (I knew the longer I let it grow, the harder the first hair cut would be on me)…nobody told me we were cutting off his babyhood!
I don’t like it. That isn’t a reflection on the barber, or even the haircut. But it makes my baby look like a little boy…and it turns out I’m not quite ready for that.
Guess I should get used to that, huh?