Mullets. I talk about them on this blog almost as much as I talk about pig-tails. Since Day 1 I feel like I've been on the war path with Mullets. Born with a "Party in the Back" attitude, Grace has been plagued by the Mullet.
With trimmed locks, I thought "My work here is done." and we moved on. A new a beautiful even head of hair was just around the corner, or so I thought.
Recently, I have felt like Grace's hair was getting longer in the back. It started to look poofy and bulky. I kept telling myself that I would trim it and from that point on let her hair grow as it wanted. Some days I thought it looked fine. I would go back and forth.
Yesterday I felt like throwing caution to the wind. Why the heck not? I grabbed the hair cutting scissors that came with Aaron's buzzer thing, got Grace down to her diaper and started cutting her hair in the bathtub. My scissors hesitated before I made the first cut. It looked like a lot, I wasn't confident or completely sure. I took a deep breath and snipped. There was no turning back. I held the hair between my fingers, like all the hair dressers I'd ever seen cut my hair, and cut away. I slipped into some parallel universe of cutting hair where there were no regrets and no qualms about how much hair was being cut. I checked things out, fed Grace lunch, and put her down for a nap. I still felt good about everything. When she woke up, reality seeped in real slow and inside I began to panic. Her hair wasn't just trimmed a little, It. Was. Short. Really really truly short.
I officially announce this as my retirement from General in the Mullet Battle militia. I will not take another snip. She will just have to look like Rapunzel for the rest of her life.
As with everything, Grace remains un-phased and couldn't care less if she tried. Which makes me a little less mopey and down on the situation. For now, I'll wait for those little hairs to grow back.
In the meantime, please send happy hair growing thoughts to Texas. My sanity needs them.