Bow Mom

When I first had Annie, I recall someone asking me if I was a "Bow Mom". I had to think about it for a bit and then I responded that I didn't think so. I have nothing against bows in general, but I think having grown up in the South, I might have been holding on to a bit of stubbornness about something I see as kind of a southern thang.

 

But then the hair started coming in.

 

And then it got curly.

 

And then people started telling me how handsome my son was.



 

And I started pulling this creature out of her crib every morning:

 

And then I realized that this was probably one of those things that if I didn't start early, it would get progressively more difficult as Annie got older. Like getting her to eat vegetables. Though I am not too proud to admit that I probably work harder to get those bows (or "boats", as she calls them) into her hair than I do to get her to eat her veggies. There's only so many battles you can fight in one day.

 

 

I equate the bow application/hair taming process to trying to put nail polish a feral cat's claws. You have to be fast, it's dangerous, and more times than not, it's a real mess. And at least one person is crying at the end of it. It requires spraying Annie down with water, which is not a fun thing for anyone first thing in the morning. Then we detangle, and I let her get good and distracted by her breakfast and whatever show I have running on the tube and then I start wrangling the cat/hair. 

 

Since I am still perfecting the art of doing someone else's hair, particularly someone who is doing the "bob and weave" during my effort, getting the rubber band in place takes at least two tries. Getting the boat in is the easy part as, at the end of the day, Annie does love her a good boat. 

 



 

But I think we can all agree that the end result is worth it. I guess I am a Bow Mom after all.