Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The Trauma of Ten Little Inches
Oh how I am so far behind... but I'm skipping a bit ahead to today, since the drama was unbeatable :)
So, I've been growing my hair for f o r e v e r, trying to get it all long enough for Locks of Love, and after the last 8 months without a trim (ewwww) I could yank even the shorter stuff straight enough to measure the minimum, post-pony. Finally. I find long hair to be a royal pain in the ass, post-child, so I was ready for super duper short.
Knowing transitions aren't the Little Man's forte, I had merely mentioned it as fact - for months. No big reactions. This weekend I showed him cuts. Small reaction, but reconciliation too. I reminded him this morning of our afternoon appointment. Slightly larger reaction, but a brief reminder of how much faster no hair is than long hair, and he was on board again. Phew.
The initial chop still left me with a bob and the boy was ready to leave the shop. Erm... But he was also happy to return to his story and wait until I was shorn shorter than many men. No big reaction.
Then we left the shop. BIG reaction. He wouldn't look at me. Wouldn't walk with me. Mumbled into the ground that I didn't look like me and that... wait for it... I looked like fox poop smells.
Now, anyone else who's had the joy of reading the book "Poop" (any other lucky parents enjoy the discussions after this one?) knows that this is a full-on statement of disdain. I was impressed that, though he's never heard the phrase "you look like shit," that he had arrived on the, apparently apt, phrase nevertheless.
All the way home we schlepped in silence - sprinkled by these oh-so adamant expressions. I quietly validated, hoping the venting would let out all of this sad steam. Occasionally, the voice of these descriptions would crack, just slightly, in perfect timing with the welling of the wee eyes. The ones that were fixed on the ground.
Then, even looking down wasn't safe. "I don't even like the look of your shadow" he wailed. And silly me, I had left my Rescue Remedy at home...
He thoroughly expressed himself for many, many blocks. Granted, it wasn't exactly the reaction I like after a major haircut, but I could take it ;) However, I admit that I did strain to see myself in the bank window as we rounded our final corner, all those blocks of dog doo, fox poo, conjured some curiosity.
When we got home, we played a game to make it up the final stairs and into the flat. We had to, really, he was on the verge of completely losing it as he squeezed out his primary pain with the words "I can't even tell that you are really Mama." Oh, kid. Ouuuuuch. He closed his unhappy baby blues and I asked him if some things were still the same (my voice, my smell, my hug, etc.) The game took a turn at Silly Street and his laugh was so cathartic it was a visible release. Giggling really is good for the soul :) His eyes blinked open and his frown was shorter this time. So we went part by part until he discovered I was, indeed, still me, minus some hair. His brilliant solution to the hair hatred? I wear my cowboy hat. At All Times. "Even at bedtime, Mama." But after 15 minutes of play, the thing was tossed off and he was fine with it. BB had been quizzed about his feelings during this whole ordeal (he always echoes P's emotions, unless otherwise instructed or expected;), and now the Little Man reported to the pink monster that he was fine with Mama's hair. What about BB? (who is, by definition, always a step behind P.) No! BB was not fine with it. "Oh, BB. I am. Mama doesn't look like fox poo smells, really. She looks like a queen."
Well, now. That was more like it ;) Hopefully the shock won't be all anew in the morning...