My Dear Sweet Boy a.k.a Terry Bradshaw

I had perhaps put it off too long. But this was something that I as a mother had not experienced until now. I had been a hair dresser for over ten years and part of that time I worked in a kids salon. I can't even begin to recall how many first haircuts I've given. I had gotten to the point where all I had to do was look at the child and would be able to know exactly how it would go. There were the screamers, the climbers and the terrified. With each case there were perks and draw backs. With the screamers, you'd have a headache the rest of the day, the climbers you were destined to cut yourself and with the terrified, you'd have their frozen expression of pure terror suck in your mind, knowing YOU were the reason why they'd have nightmares when they went to bed that night. But with each case, I'd just jump in, work my fastest as I tripped over worried parents and dodging cameras. I think there was just a handful of times that I wasn't able to finish a haircut. With experience you can tell the moment they walk up to you. With this experience, I would ignore the parents instruction for their child's 1 fade to finger length on top and get a 3 on the sides and back before being kicked and punched.

So for the last month, I watched my son. He's such a sweet child who cries if you look at him the wrong way. And of course, he has my hair, fine and very blond. The kind of blond most hair dressers dread.

With his blond hair growing wildly on the sides and back, I couldn't ignore the fact that my sweet child looked more and more like Terry Bradshaw with every passing day.



























This was it. My in laws are visiting for the weekend and I figured it just had to be done.

My husband has his own set of over the counter Wahl's so I knew it would be better to use those instead of my industrial Oster's. Although, I do miss the grind of my clippers, their weight in my hand and the comforting smell of grease. It was an odd feeling for me. I held his clippers in my hand as Baxter sat unknowingly in Grandma Lord's lap. Since I retired from cosmetology, it was rare for me to cut hair. It had been years since I last stood behind an over-grown head. I found the guard, snapped it on and set the clippers down. I have a favorite set of shears and setting both pairs next to each other and then separately holding each one up to study the blade before selecting my favorite. I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything too fancy with Baxter but I wanted to cut off some of the rear comb-forward and that required shears. Just slipping my fingers into the handle, I knew this just might be one of the last haircuts I was to give. I hadn't felt that kind of restricted pain before but as it shot through my hand and fingers, my arm seized with familiarity. I ignored the pain, set down my shears and grabbed the clippers. Looking at my beautiful son I turned the Whal's on and tried to show my son how they worked. This did not go over well. I'll let you decide what kind of kid he is by the pictures:


















Shifting into stylist mode I dove in and got to work. The haircut didn't take long and as I trimmed the top of his blond locks, Daddy watched nervously. As soon as I was done I swooped my baby into my arms and flooded him with kisses. After he settled down we showed him how handsome he was with his new haircut. Turns out, he couldn't have cared less however, I can't stop looking at my boy and am in awe how a simple haircut could make such a difference. When I look at my child, I no longer see my baby, I see my sweet toddler. My little man, my pumpkin growing-up. I do miss the cuddle bug baby but at the same time I'm amazed how big my son is and as I pull him down off the desk for the tenth time today, I'm eager to see all he grows into.