Tragedy struck, at least as far as Kiddo#4 was concerned. His hair had grown. He needed a haircut.
To the uninitiated that seems like no big deal, but keep in mind that Kiddo#4 is the one who, when we went into the shoe store, endured the brutality of a shoe saleswoman touching his foot and putting it into the shoe-measurement thingie. It was horrible: she actually touched his foot! He sobbed for, oh, half an hour after that, and the whole time we were in the shoe store, he kept giving this poor woman a guilt-inducing traumatized look. After all, she’d touched his foot.
(No, we did not try on the shoes. I just trusted that the measurements were good. They were. There was no way we were getting an actual shoe on the boy at that point.)
Anyhow, back to the haircut: The Boy would be just fine with a haircut as long as it did not involve someone he did not know, any touching of his physical person, any looking directly at him, and any scissors. If we could omit all those factors, he’d be fine.
And so, days turned to weeks and my baby turned into a sheepdog, and he could not see any longer past the hair, and I knew it was time. Except he wasn’t thrilled with me touching his head either, and any time I brought out the scissors, he’d scream, and he wouldn’t stay still, and he’d run away.
What’s a mom to do?
I cut it while he was napping.
I don’t think I did a terrible job, either. I went over everything I could reach, cut off about three inches of hair (he still had quite a bit left!) and trimmed it over his ears and such, and all the time he remained snoring and a little pile of hair grew on the nightstand.
Later, he rolled over, and I was able to get a little more. But not the opposite side. So for about six hours until bedtime, he walked around looking like Two-Face.
(Kiddo#1 yelled at me, “It looks terrible!” and I replied, “What do you expect? It’s only half a haircut!”)
When he fell asleep, I made sure to lay him on the opposite side, and I trimmed what was left.
For the next two days, whenever I got a chance, I’d snip off the stragglers, those stray locks that had escaped the first mowing.
He actually looks okay, and he can see out again. One boy, three days, half a haircut and then half a haircut more. Hey, you do what you have to do.