Hair

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.

 I really didn't want to cut it.  I had this whole irrational thing about cutting his hair for the first time.  It was cute, and shaggy in all sorts of weird places.  None of it was even, but it didn't matter, because he was a baby and it was adorable.  As far as I was concerned, we could have left his hair alone forever.

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?