My youngest is a pandemic baby. If you don’t know what I mean—look it up. It’s a thing…this breed of feral babes that are just built differently. They are overstimulated. They are easily occupied in the home but are scared of anything outside of their yard. The CDC even recently changed the developmental milestones for infants and toddlers. Was this change in the works or did Covid encourage the change? Who knows. All I am certain about is that my pandemic baby has shortened my life by at least 8 years. This kid is wild.
As we continue to live through a pandemic, we are more Covid conscious than most. This is likely because we are just so uncertain about what it would do to George if he were to test positive. We don’t go anywhere without masks. We’ve essentially stayed away from everyone. We’ve cut out experiences that seemed a bit too people-y. Our Theo has still never been in a shopping cart.
So you can imagine that haircuts weren’t high on our priority list. Aaron and George like their hair short. So I invested in a decent pair of clippers and a buzz it every few weeks. McKenna and I wear it long and Aunt Colleen safely gave us a couple of good cuts when needed. I’ve been doing a semi decent job of keeping up with my own bangs for over a year now. And Theo was just a baby. How much hair could he have?
Funny thing about babies. They grow. And so does their hair. Especially when it’s been 18+ months since they were born. This kid’s hair grew and grew and grew. And yet Covid conscious us were not taking an unmasked baby turned toddler for a hair cut. So we let it grow. A lot.
It hit his shoulder. It grew past his shoulders. He could no longer see. So around 18 months I fancied myself a stylist and trimmed it up.
It wasn’t good. At all. It was a blunt banged mullet. What on earth was I thinking? My sister who was team haircut told me I had no other choice but to get him a real haircut now that I had messed it up so badly. Luckily it grew in a pretty well and we were left with this business casual look.
I like his hair long. Theo likes it long. Just as I did as a child, he pulls and twists it as his self-soothing technique. I still do it as an adult but more as an anxiety tell. But it is interesting how many people have an opinion about the hair of a child who is not theirs. Pretty much everyone.
He looks like a girl.
You must cut it.
I thought you had a baby boy?
Why haven’t you cut it?
I vote haircut.
And my all time favorite: you’re going to confuse him.
A fellow long haired sons friend has been supporting me through all the heckling from the peanut gallery. Every time a new comment is said, I immediately send it to her. It’s only solidifying my resolve to never cut it until he’s old enough to drive himself there. And pay for it. I’m serious. Every comment is adding a month or two to my refusal to cut it. And if those adorable curls keep growing in the back, I may never cut it. Ever.
I have given a couple of other bad trims since the first. Most notable was when I thought I would get fancy and texturize it. This did not go well. Luckily, each time, it has filled in nicely with no lasting damage. Every now and then, when he eats something especially messy, I toss it up in a man bun. It’s not ideal but it does the trick.
So today when a kindly person on IG sent a message asking why I would torture my son with long hair, I wanted to tell them to kick rocks. I didn’t. I took a deep breath and told them that Theo would take their suggestion under consideration and get back to them at a later date. Who the hell has time to worry about someone else’s toddler’s hair anyway?