firing on all syllables

Well, it has happened.

I have done the inevitable. I joked about doing it and I bet you all thought that was the end of it, right? She’s not that stupid, you told yourselves. Well you were sadly mistaken. I really am that stupid.

I have cut my son’s hair.

Oh dear me, yes.

You see, my 14-month-old boy was starting to get a mullet. Even though it’s been oodles of fun calling him ‘Billy-Ray’, I decided a haircut was overdue. So I planned to take him to the hairdressers yesterday.

But then I woke up to a hideously hot day. Really sweltering and foul. “I don’t want to go outside!” I whined to myself. “But he needs a haircut….I know! I’ll Do It Myself!”

I can feel you all cringing reading this. In my defence, it was during that dangerous morning period – you know, that time between waking up and having your first coffee. It’s no time for snap decisions.

So instead of waiting for a cooler day – as most people with more than half-a-teaspoon of brains would have done – I went and fetched the scissors. 

At this point I should declare that I have never cut hair before in my life. Although I have watched hairdressers cutting hair. How hard can it be? Right? 

I plonked my poor unsuspecting son in his high chair and I turned the TV on to distract him. So as Mr Squish sat there happily nibbling on a rice cracker and watching Dora The Explorer, I went to work.

From the get-go there were several problems: 1. I had no plan; 2. I didn’t know how much to take off; 3. I didn’t know how to do layering; 4. I had no idea when to stop; and 5. I HAD NEVER CUT HAIR BEFORE IN MY LIFE.

To add to the stress, Mr Squish was turning around in his seat, trying to see what was going on behind him. “For god’s sake! Watch TV!” I instructed in a slightly hysterical voice. Clearly, this was not my finest mothering hour.

I started by holding pieces of hair between my fingers – like I’d seen hairdressers do – and began chopping. I finished the back (by ‘finished’ I mean I gave up trying to correct the mistakes I’d made) and started on the fringe.

Here’s where things started to go really wobbly.

I did the hair-in-the-fingers routine again, but this time Mr Squish moved forward as I cut. Suddenly my hand held a LOT more hair than I’d planned. And it was no longer attached to his head.

“SHIT!” I exclaimed as my little son peered up at me. His expression seemed to say, “Muuum. I’m not sure about this.”

I don’t blame him. Frustrated swearing and a look of panic is not really something you want from your hairdresser.

I stood up and put the scissors down on the kitchen bench (arguably the most sensible thing I’d done all day). I then paced the room, my mind a flurry of panicked thoughts. Oh god, oh god! I can’t fix this. I’m going to have to buy him a wig. Christ, my husband will be home in a few hours. People will laugh at me… more than they usually do. And my son will be scarred for life and he’ll grow up to be a serial killer. Or a Young Liberal*. Shit!

I then looked over to Mr Squish and his forehead where most of his fringe used to be, and got a massive shock.

IT LOOKED GOOD! 

Seriously! I’m as stunned as you. His long fringe used to sweep across to one side but now it had a cute little curl! It looked adorable! 

Check it out!

Filled with fresh enthusiasm, I tidied up the fringe then wandered in a circle around him, admiring my handy work from all angles. My heart swelled like a balloon. I wanted to run out onto the street, giving high-fives to complete strangers and shouting, “YAAAY! MY SON IS NOT GOING TO JOIN THE YOUNG LIBERALS!”

So, if you’d like me to cut your kid’s hair – and I can only assume you do – I am totally available. Just provide some smelling salts in case I faint from the stress. Oh, and a TV to drown out my swearing.

*A youth wing of the Liberal Party of Australia. They are often accused of being racist, sexist, homophobic, and ultra-conservative.

Tags: cutting your child's hair, Dora the Explorer, humor, humour, Mr Squish, mullet hairdo, parenting, stupid decisions, Young Liberals