My morning began with beauty advice from my 2-year-old. This is the same girl who thinks red goes with purple. After pointing out the stain on my pajama shirt she offered to give me a haircut….. with a saw. Sure, it was a toy saw, but she could have chosen plastic pliers. At least pliers actually resemble scissors. I suppose I’m lucky she didn’t pick out a screw driver. It turned out to be a rather pleasant “haircut.” It was definitely better than the one I got in 1999. I was 8 months pregnant with acne like a pubescent teenager. I walked out of the salon looking like Dorothy Hamill with Tanya Harding’s self-esteem.
Today I sat on the ground as my daughter ran her tiny little fingers through my hair. Sure, every minute or so she would tear strands from my scalp. All the while she was singing and giving me the occasional reminder to keep my eyes closed. Finally in a soft whisper she declared, “You look beautiful Mommy.” I took a deep breath hoping to freeze time to cherish this mother/daughter moment even longer. It didn’t matter that I may have a few bald spots or that she may grow up to be Sweeney Todd. “Thank You baby.”