Little Miss has hair issues. Unlike her brother, when she was born, she didn’t have long and thick eyelashes, and her hair was pretty much nonexistent. His hair grew in thick and fast. Hers… didn’t.
My mom kept telling me that mine didn’t come in until I was three, and that it was thin before that — but look how thick it is now. That comforted me for awhile. At Little Miss’s third birthday, I started to question this, but people kept telling me that her hair would come.
Every month that passes, my belief falters just a little bit more. Her hair is thin, and it flies everywhere. It’s always in her eyes, because it isn’t thick enough to hold a barrette or long enough to tuck behind her ears. You’ve seen the brushing before and after pictures.
I finally gave up. This is what Little Miss is doomed to look like, forever:
So today, I took her to get her hair cut. I requested that they cut it as short as they can get away with to look “cute” and to make it appear fuller than it is. They obliged. In fact, I told her she looks just like Grandma since Grandma has the exact same haircut now. Doesn’t it look cute?
I love that feeling right after you’re finished with a haircut. It looks great, no hairs are out of place, and there’s just this sense of peace. Until you realize that the woman used product, had a special styling brush and spent fifteen minutes styling Little Miss’s hair.
Granted, the hair now looks like this:
However, I don’t have the time or talent to recreate this look. Tomorrow morning when she wakes up, the dream will be over. At least until the next haircut. When I may ask them to make it even shorter in the back.