The first haircut hits a little different when you’re in first grade and well over seven years old.
Getting a first haircut at age seven is a little like telling people you’ve never had ketchup. It’s kind of less an interesting fact and more a thing you’re avoiding for no reason.
Maybe that metaphor works, maybe it doesn’t.
What I’m saying is, Anna didn’t get her first haircut at age 7.5, because she was bald and didn’t have long enough hair to close scissors over until she was in elementary school. Nope, it’s because I was enjoying watching her soft blonde curls come in. Her hair was soft and fine and why mess with a good thing?
Anna’s hair is quite fine, and it didn’t really start growing any length until she was in kindergarten. It grew in golden curls and for those first few years cutting it, frankly, felt criminal.
Aside from Mary, who was born with dark curls, all of my kids seem to start out with my hair. They’re slick bald until they’re about three, then their hair comes in in blonde wisps.
By now Anna had much longer hair that I ever had in elementary school, and it had grown into the tell-tale inverted triangle of negligence. Time for a trim.
I wish I’d taken a before and after for posterity’s sake, but honestly you can barely tell I’d cut anything. Sign of a great stylist if you ask me!
Anna handled this much better than I ever did at her age. My mom swears that my hair grew in uneven patches and she just had to even it out. I accused her of war crimes every single time. I threw the works at her — tears, wailing, accusations. I’m still not completely sure that she HAD to trim my hair (how uneven could it have been?) but I do know that she was determined enough to get that trim in that she was willing to walk over coals to do it, and I made sure she would.
Anna got my elementary-age hair, but not my elementary-age haircut sensibilities.
