Monday, February 17, 2014

Curious Berzo Gets a Haircut

The morning snarl.
By the time I brought Berzo to Pigtails and Crewcuts for her first haircut last week, she was long overdue. Something in me just didn't want to face parting with those four little baby curls that finished her light-brown hair that flowed down her back—when it wasn't heaped in a snarl behind her head, that is… Coaxing her locks from the morning snarl began to involve more and more strategy…

I began to feel like a cheetah stalking a baby impala. I'd find the softest hair brush and begin following her. If she was running around playing, I'd hide the brush and feign indifference. Eventually, she'd tire and find a cozy spot to rest, such as by the fire reading a book. Haha! This is my moment. Silently, I'd approach from behind, very nonchalant, brush concealed, so as not to arouse the suspicion of my quarry. Then I'd ever so gently take her hair from under her collar and begin to work on the ends. A snag. Abort! Abort!

“Owww! Hey!"  She turns and looks at me, "Don't brush my hair.”

The chase is on.

Eventually, after much dashing about I corner her and pounce. She struggles, giggling, I walk her over to a chair, I sit down and use my legs to block her escape.

“Let me go!”

“As soon I get your hair brushed, you can go. I'll be extra, EXTRA gentle, I promise.”



Baby curls.
It's time... Time to let the baby curls go. With resignation I say, “Berzo, we need to get your hair cut kiddo.”

“No! I don't want to get my hair cut. It will hurt!”

“No, baby, it doesn't hurt. Let's just go check it out, and see if you feel better when we get there.”

Then we;re off to the mall. We go inside, it's a bright, friendly place and she goes over to the train table as I put her name on the list. I inquire as to the wait time, toddlers are not known for patience, and she says about ten minutes. We head down the stairs into the mall and walk a few circuits around the fountain then look in a clothing store. Soon our ten minutes are up and we head back to the salon. She starts to play again and within a few minutes, she is called for her turn.

“Ok, Berzo, it's your turn. What vehicle do you choose? The yellow taxi car or the airplane?  WooOOoo, sooo cool.” Why do I always say this? What kind of dork sells stuff to a kid with “Wooo, so cool!”? It never works; if anything it probably clues them in...

“No. No. I'm too scared.”

The stylist and I are patient and waited for her to get used to the idea but after about five minutes of coaxing we realized we needed to be more persuasive. I picked her up, she fought me a little, but went in the seat. She started to drive the car. Then she locked eyes with the stylist and immediately reached out to me and started to get upset. The stylist asked if we should offer her a lollipop now rather than after. I agreed. She offered Berzo the jar and she picked out a sour apple lolly and was instantly transformed.

“Mama, you open it?”

I undo the wrapper just a little and let her work it the rest of the way off. She pops it in her mouth and she's on board now, just like that.

Candy and TV notwithstanding, she's a little nervous when the stylist starts cutting. But she trusts her now, (candy) and is cooperative about looking this way and that, on command. The stylist hands me Berzo's severed ponytail. In my hands I hold the last vestige of Berzo's babyhood. My throat tightened...

Then stylist is all done cutting. The stylist picks up a round brush and starts to blow dry her hair. Berzo's scared again and pulls her neck all the way inside her body like a turtle. The stylist tries to show her that the dryer is harmless, but in the end decides to get it over with quickly.

Berzo's hair is silky and bouncy as my newly minted big girl swings her head from side to side. The stylist tries to get a picture, and we get a smile but eyes closed, then a smile with eyes looking sideways, then eyes on but no smile. Eventuall, we got a cute picture and the stylist takes a blond curl and prints the photo, and tucks both into a keepsake card.

I thank her, pay the bill with a generous tip for her extra care and patience and we leave. Unfortunately, I leave without Berzo's ponytail.

From there we headed to Pump-It-Up Junior, Berzo's favorite place to play, and Berzo dashes in the door exclaiming to the woman behind the counter, “I just got my hair cut!!” Then she swings her head side to side. The woman praises her cute cut and Berzo rockets down the hallway towards the play area.

I want another baby. No I don't. Yes, I do. Or do I?

The title of this blog post inspired me to write a Curious George style story about the experience.  I'm kinda wishing I was more artistic. I'd love to illustrate this to have for our family...

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