scarred for life
I was so positive about the whole hair cut thing. She continued to be enthusiastic about it even as we headed to a child salon with little cars and the TVs and toys. I realized soon after that when they charge $15 for baby’s first hair cut, they did not at all mean the equivalent of a grown woman’s thick mane on a two-year-old head. They booked 15 minutes for what actually took well over an hour. They seemed unprepared, mentally, for an almost three-year-old and less than forgiving when she decided she was done one third of the way through.
And by done, I mean done. Thrashing, jumping up, yelling. They told me it was taking too long and that I had to hold her (they were closing soon). So the rest of the haircut was nothing short of torture for both of us. She screamed all the way home, furious that she’d been held down, and I’m lying in bed letting her eat an entire box of wheat thins cause I’m so over life right now.
What started out as my effort to respect my daughter’s body autonomy turned into the worst parenting scene (and worst haircut) ever. She is completely indifferent about the state of her hair, so she’s not even glowing with happiness the way I’d thought she would be. Rather, she’s pissed off at me for not letting her leave the salon with half long and half short hair when she was ready. And I’m pissed at her for biting/kicking/hitting me and forcing me to drag her out of the place (because she was on the floor in full tantrum mode). And I’m pissed at myself for not being more compassionate with her. Oh and I’m pissed at the hair because if she really doesn’t even care, why did we go through with this awful idea? Now we’re both completely mad, the hair is awful, and I had to pay money for the misery.
Just goes to show, parenting never goes the way you plan.