...I need a tear-free salon!
Zoodle's ever-growing, shapeless hairstyle finally merited professional attention today. He got his first haircut (not counting the mulletectomy I performed last month.)
If it hadn't been for the electric clippers, he would have been fine. Because of his age, salon policy required the stylist to use clippers for part of the cut. Seems she didn't want to snip off part of his ear. (Despite what Baby Einstein might have you believe, "Baby Van Gogh" really isn't a good thing.) Zoodle has recently become afraid of the vacuum cleaner, and I suppose clippers sound like a miniature vacuum very close to his ears. Despite a very nice stylist, it was not the best experience.
Of course, I faithfully recorded his trauma for the sake of posterity.
At first, it seemed pretty exciting--a car to sit in and a Sesame Street DVD to watch? Score!
The scissors made him wary, but he was brave.
But then.... Lady, what are you doing to me?! Since when did they start making torture chairs disguised as cars? What kind of place is this, anyway?
When the deed was done, we were left with a very handsome little boy who refused to smile. I don't blame him.
But don't worry; he got over it quickly and gave us plenty of sunny grins later.
We'll be exposing Zoodle to the sound and feel of Daddy's electric razor, before his next visit to the salon. He's a resilient kid, so he might be able to handle that kind of trauma again...but Mommy sure doesn't want to.