My big guy Buddy’s hair, with remaining baby curls outstretched, was down to his waist this morning, at age two and two thirds. I cherished those curls, but he was getting *mighty* tired of pushing his hair out of his face, and while I have trimmed his bangs before (but not in a long time), the back of it was getting caught under my arm when he nursed, the fixing of which was waking us both up FAR more than needful in the wee hours of the morning. Ergo, he and I went out in the sunshine this afternoon, and got him a haircut.
He was excited to go, but fussed and cried the entire time, even though he was in my lap! (Poor stylist!) As SOON as we were out the door into the sunshine though, he said “I *love* getting a haircut!” Not sure if he’s a) expressing something different than he’s feeling during the thing, b) doing some (adaptive) cognitive restructuring *after* the event, or c) just glad that the whole ordeal was over and he was rewarded with sugar, but I’m not complaining! He *really* likes his haircut, is equally-albeit-differently supercute, and stylist didn’t mop up any blood along with my keepsake curls. Win-win-win!