The first cut is the deepest

Today I took baby blue for his first haircut. He's not so much of a baby any more now that he's nearly 2, and I was afraid that this day would make him even less of one. I have in fact been putting it off for weeks, or rather months while mr me periodically said "he really needs a haircut now." This week I finally promised I would go, after baby blue had been mistaken for a girl several times.

I spent yesterday evening frantically taking photos, trying to capture the head of golden spiralling slightly out-of-control curls. Woke up today with a feeling of dread that I'd end the day with a short haired grown up boy. I was grateful to find the hairdressers was a small salon with only one stylist and no other customers. I was even more grateful when the kind young mum-of-two salon owner said "oh...look at his hair! you don't want it too short do you?"

Baby blue decided that nestled against my chest was the optimum position for a haircut, I was OK with that, and the wispy curls didn't take long to trim. Having thought I would have to lie down and take sedatives for the rest of the day, I was pleasantly surprised by the results. He still looks like a toddler, but slightly tidier and more male. I do miss the curls, but have kept a couple for sentimental purposes.