There’s far too much crying at our house every morning.
Ava, who stayed up until 10:45 the night before just to remind us that we can’t actually control when and how much she sleeps, is pitching a fit about having to wake up “before it’s even morning time.”
And Olivia, who is still suffering from pacifier withdrawal, screams and fights when you approach her with a hair brush.
I might not be able to do much about the lack of sleep—and really, I don’t want to undo that plan that will prevent Liv from packing a spare paci in her kindergarten knapsack, but I can solve the screaming that comes from having to drag a brush through a nest of curly hair that seems to be inexplicably matted (even after bath night—I don’t understand it!).
The downside is that I’m the one who’s now teary-eyed.
I don’t know why I had such a hard time taking the girls for their first real haircuts, but with Olivia, I knew it was time when even Gramma Great’s ultra-gentle approach was rebuffed.
That said, it wasn’t an easy decision. Olivia’s hair spilled over her shoulders and burst into little ringlets along her back. It was gorgeous—when it was clean and brushed. The rest of the time, it was piled on the top of her head in an effort to keep it that way. She had taken to calling the little rubber bands we used for her hair, and then the pigtails themselves, “cutes,” because I’d say, “Look how cute!” every time I finished her hair.
Olivia was very excited about getting her hair cut, but when it came time to sit in the stylist’s chair, she panicked. Bryan commented that her hair wasn’t exactly even on both sides. The stylist did the best she could.
Hopefully, it will be the last time Olivia sheds tears over her hair.
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