The Neglect of John

Oh baby John. You poor thing. Pretty much every thing your sister did was documented on this blog. I think I even documented the very first real tear she shed. Then you came along, and she got older, and well...blah. I am sorry. And the events described in this post happened almost five weeks ago. I know.

Horrible.

And I swear your lack of a real first hair cut wasn't because we were not tending to your basic hygiene needs, you just have such awesome hair and I never wanted to cut it. And I was also worried that no matter where we went, they would judge me for wanting to keep your hair long, so I trimmed it myself and we made our way through the days.

But when I noticed you started to cock your head back to see past/under your long bangs, I realized we should probably bring in a professional, lest your sweet baby spine develop a reverse hunch and we spend countless hours trying to reverse damage that could have been avoided by a single haircut.

To quell my fears regarding the judgment of your long hair, I choose a fairly progressive (read: hippy) place to get your hair cut. It was fully equipped with a wide array of earth-friendly toys and a breast milk donation box. Yes, that's a thing. I knew we were in the right spot when the hair dresser promptly strapped her 10 month old to her back before setting you up for the cut. It was impressive.

Aunt Shisha (Liza) came with us for moral support, and I am so thankful she did, or we would have no pictures of the event.

Pre-cut. Cautious, but comforted by the tools/trucks you are hoarding.

Note the tartan plaid wrap around the hair-cutter. That's holding her baby onto her back. No judgment about John's hair length here. He's free to be whatever he wants to be.

Ruh-roh. You realized there's a strange woman with a child strapped to her back holding a sharp object by your neck. Fear is probably a reasonable response.

Mom to the rescue! Or at least to hold him still while the remainder of the cut was rushed through.

I should also add here, this is when I realized you were warmer than normal and had a diaper full of poop. So, not ideal hair cutting conditions. You went on to develop a full blown fever later that night.

Finished product.

So, despite some emotional and physical hurdles, we both survived your first "real" haircut. And they left enough hair so you still look like my little man. And thankfully, it appears your super hero powers are still intact.