Ike’s hair has become a major part of his little identity. This is in large part due to my attachment to said hair, but lately it is becoming more and more about his attachment to his hair. As in, it is his hair and he loves his hair.
It is becoming more undeniably chaotic every day. We have a variety of hair care products especially for Ike that rivals what you see on a teenage girl’s vanity.
(Yes I let my child color on the bathtub walls, I also bribe him with chocolate to bathe)
So I have been trying to gently broach the subject of perhaps getting a tiny trim. His answers have remained the same, simply NO.
“Ike do you want to get a haircut?” “NO!”
“Ike do you maybe want to trim just a little bit of your hair?” “No”
“Ike maybe you’d like to go and see one of your friends get a haircut? I hear they have a car-chair?” “No”
“Ike what if mommy just cuts this much (shows him an inch of hair between fingers)?” “No”
When asked why he doesn’t want to cut his hair his response is usually, “It’s my beautiful hair” or the less articulate “don’t touch mah hair!”
Nevertheless, it is July in Georgia and as someone with an abundance of hair on her head I can attest that something must be done to save my child from heat stroke.
Ike went to my hair stylist (so now in addition to a collection of headbands, curl milk, wet and dry brushes and special gentle curl shampoo, Ike has a hair stylist). I prepped her by asking for her to 1. Do no wet his hair, he hates that 2. Do not even show him scissors, he will run 3. Be as quick as possible, he has the attention span of a gnat.
He did very well in the chair, although it was clear from his face that he was not enjoying it one bit.
The result was wonderful and after the initial “where’s my hair?” concern he grew to like his braids quite a lot and is already asking when he can get his hair done again.