Upon a late night, in no particular ordinance or order I thought it was time I cut River's hair. I had been contemplating such an act, for quite some time. It had become the topic of my conversations an embarrassing amount. I would complain that at two she already had split ends. What two year old gets split ends? Apparently my two year old. Truthfully, taking the scissors to River's hair had not been something I felt was a huge milestone. For some, I know it is. "The first haircut, the first haircut!"my friends squeal. To me, nothing of the such came to mind or mouth. I would simply complain, un-wrap her ponytail and show my shocked friends and family the evidence... the split ends.
River also thought nothing of a haircut. She had seen Peter get his mop chopped on a few occasions. She, like the sweet two year old she is, thought it hilarious, and attempted to cut his hair (With a pen. Because pens do resemble scissors) herself. Since then, she's referred to any hairstyle as a "haircut." So in fact, upon my suggestion of a haircut I don't even think she thought it meant actually cutting her hair.
That night came. I had eased myself into knowing that I am the kind of women who procrastinates. Never mind the fact that I talked an annoyingly amount about this subject. There never seems to be enough time, and when there is, there only seems to be enough time for me to be lazy. As I should do on down time right? Right. But this particular evening was a bit different. River had skipped
my her beloved nap time, and by 7pm had surpassed the point of tiredness. She also happened to surpass the point of really tired, crazy tired, and drunk toddler tired. What was left was hyper tired. Which meant that tonight was the perfect night for a haircut. If she had any ill feelings towards her dear mother chopping off her gorgeous locks, it was out the window with toddler logic.
I laid everything out nicely, as cartoons played in the background to keep her eyes and hands off of my "special" tools. She combed the tight, conditioner curls upon her head with such sweetness and care. She looked nothing like a crazy sleep deprived toddler. While her raspy voice talked of haircuts and combs I slowly wrapped the towel around her neck. It seemed nothing short of natural to us both. I was ready, she was ready. A haircut was no big spectacle, for us at least.
I finished and she was proud. With her chipped red tiny toes, wavy hair, and diaper-less tush, she marched through the back hallway to her papa. Proudly showing him her new haircut.
The haircut, according to her she performed.