All Good Hair Must Come To A Cut

While I'm perfectly happy having a baby with a messy mop top, the other half of this blog (*ahem* his name starts with a Chris and ends with a topher), is not. While lounging on the couch last night, as peacefully as one just weeks away from giving birth could be, my serenity was suddenly interrupted with-

"Mommy is going to cut your hair tomorrow".

Wait. I am? Says who? And since when?

Well, less than 24 hours and a whole bunch of failed "nooooo I'm not"'s later, I lost the argument.

Not only did he want me to cut Charlie's hair, but, he wanted me to cut it all off, just like I do his. He gave me the option of doing a mohawk, but really, that just doesn't flow with Charlie's personality.

Fine. I'll buzz it all off. You win.

So we stripped down the baby to nothing but a diaper and binky, pulled the high chair and clippers outside, and my heart proceeded to shatter into a billion pieces- floating away in the wind alongside each and every strand of baby soft could-be-curl.

And we documented it, of course. So now, mourn with me, won't you?



I know, I know, its for the better. He'll be much cooler in the nagging Texas heat, and really, it was getting kind of out of control.

And he's still handsome as ever.

*sigh*

But still, y'all know how hard it is to cut your little ones hair. It sort of symbolizes their growth, in a way? Or... something?

Well, after the job was over and done with, we still had the task of cleaning up at hand. So we got out the hose, and let him take care of it himself, which he had no problems doing...



Except for when he splashed himself in the face, he didn't like that very much.

But I did, hee hee.