I noticed a couple of weeks ago that William's hair was starting to get a little shaggy. I'm afraid he may have inherited his mama's Big Hair Tendencies. It may not look big in this particular photo, but trust me, it was starting to take on a life of its own.
It didn't make him any less charming, of course, as you can see here:
But it was starting to get really unruly. And we didn't have time to venture out for a haircut until this morning. Here is the new 'do:
He loves his new haircut because it netted him a lollipop.
My reaction was more, "man, his hair is short now!" It also smells heavily of violets. Violets? Yes, violets. The hairstylist saw fit to douse his head with a wild coating of hairspray after she cut it. I'm not sure what possessed her to spray the head of a two-year-old boy, but whatever.
Is it weird that I actually had a panicky moment when the stylist went after my son's hair with the clippers? It was similar to that moment when, if you've ever had a bad haircut, you feel a flood of panic into your throat, as the hair falls to the ground, as you begin to freak out, "oh, no, she's cut way too much off! It's never going to look good ever again! I'm going to be bald!"
I'm way too invested in my son's hair, clearly. I need to get over this. It's bad enough that I'm paranoid about my own hair. But in my defense, I have a lot of hair that can potentially be messed up so perhaps you can excuse me for being a little gunshy.
But I guess it'll be okay. His hair does grow quickly. And David has reassured me that it really does look fine. I hope so.