Don't Cry Over Cut Curls

It happened today. I can't believe it but it happened.

I cut Camden's hair.

Before you spit in my lemonade or plant a bomb in my mailbox know this. I did not want to cut his beautiful, curly hair off. I loved his hair. However, we had house rules about his hair (yes, in some households, there are rules specifically pertaining to hair). And once those rules were broken (or met), it was time for it to be cut off. 

Actually, the rule was put into place as a negotiation tool to keep Brad from shaving it off in the middle of the night when I wasn't looking. He HATED Cam's curly hair. But he agreed to not slaughter the curls until the criteria of the Rule was met. We shook on it. In a Target Parking lot. Which makes it official, you know.

Camden's Hair Rule: It had to be cut if Cam was openly mistaken for a girl three times, OR, when he turned 2 years of age, whichever came first. 

I don't remember where Strike One occurred, (somewhere public and stupid I'm sure), Strike Two occurred in North Carolina last month and the Third and Final Strike happened on Coast Guard Day. As soon as I heard that wench (whoever she was) say "she", I cried a little inside. It was over. 

Technically Brad didn't hear it so I probably could have gotten away with it. But we shook on it in a Target parking lot. I probably would have been turned away at the Gates of Heaven for withholding that. 

"Remember in 2012 when that unspeakable woman called your son a girl and you didn't tell your husband? That was deal breaker. You may not enter."

What the hell was I talking about?

Oh yeah, his hair.

In reality, it really was time. While it used to be super cute with clean, extremely tight curls, over the course of the past month the curls have become less tight and more like some sort of frizzy unkempt homeless man curly hair. 

A month changes a lot. Adorable hair in July, frizzy hippy hair in August.

So I strapped my poor victim to his high chair and slowly trimmed it with scissors. I will be the first to admit that I did cry a little over his beautiful locks falling to the floor. Yeah. I cried over HAIR. NO, I'm not pregnant. But I AM on my period so maybe I'm a little hormonal. My new neighbor had just taught me how to cut hair without using a buzzer. Since this was my first time, I had to cut it pretty short in order to fix all the screwups I made. At one point I didn't even want to finish, it made me so sad. But then he'd be stuck with a full blown mullet and no one in 2012 wants to see that unless they're in Walmart or a NASCAR race. 

The "before shot." Goodbye curls.

He actually was very patient considering it took me about an hour and a half before I was un-satisfied with his haircut. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the applesauce, lollipop, animal crackers and pretzels I bribed him with. 

After. I'm already anxiously awaiting his curls to return.

I was pretty excited to see his ears for the first time in like a year. He has cute ears. But now he's all big boy-like and has boring normal hair and it makes me sad. His current haircut still hints at the possibility that it may grow back curly, if I'm lucky. 

And I am one of those creepy people that took some of the curls and stuffed them in a sandwich baggy. I couldn't help it. It was like mourning a loss in the family. (Did I mention I'm on my period?) 

 

 

 

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