First hair cut

My husband Peter has been talking about where to take Rory for his first haircut since he was about six months old.  His attachment to his hairdresser and the ritual that goes along with cutting a child's hair, far outweighs my own.  There never really was a debate, more a question of when and proximity did win out in the decision to take Rory to the trendy loft on Queen West that Peter currently gets his hair cut in (by a woman named Susan who offers wine and clever conversation). By appointment only.  Vs. the woman who cut Peter's hair when he was little (in Cobourg).

I’ll be honest. I didn’t really think either of these choices were that well thought through.  I pictured the first hair cut in a place more along the lines of this...

You know... tons of distractions, lots of colours, and staff that are trained to get parents in and out before the tears turn into tantrums.  No small talk... Just cut, smile, a few "ohhhhh, so cute", and done.  Fairly unscathed.


I've been a mom for a year now. I get it. We need to choose our battles. And... Peter's off right now with Rory, so if he was up for taking him to some private studio totally not equipped to deal with a child. Go nuts right?  I was happy to wait for the report when they arrived home.

As it turned out, once we agreed it was time for "the cut", Peter booked the appointment on Rory's actual birthday last Thursday, and at the very end of the day, making it almost impossible for me not to swing by for the cut (given the studio is walking distance from my work). Smart guy.  


So... what I thought was going to be an absolute disaster... actually was awesome.  As it turns out, LESS distractions work in your favour when someone is wielding scissors over your child's head.


So this unruly mass of hair and baby curl....

Turned into this....

Don't worry. I saved the curls. This time.