Miles had his first haircut today.
We got out the safety scissors,* and sat him down in his rocking chair, and I trimmed his hair, while Daddy entertained him. He wiggled a lot, but I managed to get it (relatively) even.
And then I saw this picture. And I knew I had to cut it.
That's right. Somehow, in my sentimental motherly concern for the beautiful hair on my boy's head, I totally missed the fact that he had:
A Baby Mullet.
Don't get me wrong. Mullets have their place,** but my child's head was not it. I had visions of the other toddlers at playdates pointing at him and laughing, derisively. I imagined him saying, in his adorable little gibberish-filled way, "Hey, guys, iz coo. Iz all bizness inna front and party inna back."
And the other toddlers would all give him the side-eye and say, "Wuz wrong wit dis dude? Wuz born in wrong decade?"***
So, I steeled myself, and trimmed his hair.
And then cried at how grown up he looks. Repeatedly.
* I'm not even kidding. We couldn't find the regular ones. . .
** In the past. Where they belong.
*** Yes, toddlers speak like LOLCats. Where do you think the cats learned to speak?