Thomas needs a haircut.
I’m balking because I love his beautiful hair. It usually looks tousled and sweet, but occasionally looks really messy and unkempt. I know, I realize the insanity of assuming a two-year old boy ever looks anything but messy and unkempt. But there’s a difference between cute toddler unkempt and feral toddler messy. It’s a fine line and I’m trying to stay ahead of the curve.
If I owned a toddler hair cuttery, the tagline would be, “We promise to only trim your sweet baby’s hair. We will not chop it all off and turn him into a full-grown man.”
It would continue, “We too value those sweet curls, the tuft of gold on his forehead.”
“We promise it’ll just be a haircut. We will not cut his hair and then send him directly to college. (Where, ironically, he’d fit in better before the haircut.)”
If there was a haircut place that admitted it’d make him look like a big kid, but there’d be the side effect of maturing him past that stage where he’s crawling up on the table and throwing cherries into the living room, or taking off his diaper, sliding over a chair to play in the sink and dumping a bowl of water on his head.
For that I might say goodbye to the curls.