Mister and I talked about having Bama's haircut. We really wanted to wait as long as possible. I think I wanted to because it would keep her little longer, even though I don't want her to stay little and am enjoying her growing up. But a haircut seems so, big girl. But her hair was getting scrappy and needed some help. I suggested it a few times before we moved, but it didn't happen.
Why pay someone else to do it? It's expensive, and I probably could have cut it myself. However, I cut my own hair for six months only to have my stylist make me promise to "never, ever do that again." Add to that a couple of my mamas wielded shears with questionable results (smooches!). Whereas one of those mamas and a couple of others shelled out for cuts and with great results.
While I was pushing for the cut, Mister was hanging back, less enthusiastic.
Until we moved. "There's a place on Christopher Street!," he gushed. "It has a plane and a car and a boat they sit in while they get their haircuts."
Mind you, those places existed a mile from our house in Oakland, but no matter. It was off to Doodle Doos for a cut on Saturday afternoon. Post nap, thank you!
Pre-cut conference. (If you aren't sure why we thought she needed a haircut, check out her hair in this post.)
In the boat, things aren't too bad. She looks like she's part of a parade float.
The first snips. She cut a lock for us. We also have a certificate honoring the moment. Cheeze.