Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow.

There are so many things I love about Ben. Those eyes. Those dimples. The cheeks. Those sweet little lips. The hair. Oh, the hair. The hair gets me every time.

The hair seems to be the first thing everyone else notices. He's gone through several hair phases in the ten short months he's been alive. He was born with lots of hair, but it looked like most other baby hair.



After just a month, it looked like this.



It's looked like some version of that ever since. We never know what it will do from one day to the next, but it certainly keeps us laughing. It's poofy. Kinda got the Donald Trump thing going some days. We part it on the side and comb it over and the crown sticks straight up in one big mass. He's got volume and body, for sure.



We've trimmed Ben's hair ourselves several times, mostly just to keep it out of his eyes, but yesterday Tim uttered the words I've been dreading. "Should we get his hair cut?"

GASP! All the breath from my lungs. "Should we? I don't know. Is he old enough? Are we ready for this?"

Alas, Tim was headed to the barber shop and he said, "Let's just take him and see how he does."

Twenty minutes later, we had this:





He (understandably) wasn't sitting really still, so I put him in my lap. He wasn't loving the cape, so we took it off. Somehow, I ended up in the chair with a cape on and he ended up in my lap with no cape. There was hair everywhere.



Doesn't he look excited? The hairdresser sprayed his hair with a squirt bottle and combed it all down. She was patient and wonderful and took plenty of time and the whole while I was thinking, "Let's hurry this thing along before we have a meltdown, lady!" I think she could sense my anxiety, because at least twice she told me not to be nervous.



Ben was really great, but getting a ten month old to hold still without a tranquilizer dart is next to impossible. Desperate times call for desperate measures, so the hairdresser broke out a butterscotch dum-dum. Ben was paralyzed by the sweet little ball of American nostalgia.



Ben held perfectly still and sucked on that lollipop while drool gushed from his mouth, down his chin, and all over my hands. Wild, flowing rapids of butterscotch drool. Worth it.

Just a few minutes later, my very handsome boy had his first very handsome haircut.



And a certificate to prove it.



Thanks to Hudson's Barber Shop (they've promised to put his picture on their website) for making the experience minimally traumatic for this mama. I'm completely ignoring the phrase "graduated from babyhood" on the certificate.

So, to recap...

Before:


After:


Wadda ya think?