I got tired of trying to cut Robbie's hair on my own (read: wrestling him in the tub and trying desperately not to poke or cut him with the shears, only to snip my own finger and bleed profusely!) and took him to Kid Snips last Friday before his Grammy, Papa and Uncle Ryan came to visit.
It was cute and fun (for those of us spectating) and Robbie walked out looking adorably grown-up!
Buckled into the car? Check.
Cape in position? Check.
Tricking small child into thinking it's just playtime in a high-up toy? Check.
It didn't take him long to figure out what was going on, and although he held out for a while and focused on 'steering' the car with enthusiasm (as he is known to do behind ANY wheel), he eventually broke down and cried. (Even the paci couldn't soothe him.) It was pitiful and hilarious all at once. Is that bad to admit? Clearly I continued to take photos, like any good mommy during a first haircut experience.
I was especially pleased that the clippers were used to clean up around the back and edges, just like a normal adult haircut! It looked so neat and clean and, well, professional. I'm retiring my shears for good.
After the torture was over (but not before I had to sell a kidney to pay for it - seriously? $16? And yes, we will be going back... haha), Robbie got a very official certificate complete with a lock of his hair and picture of his new do.
I put it up on our fridge. I am a sentimental mess like that.