My 3-year-old thinks my doctor moonlights as a hairdresser. I had an appointment Friday morning to get a haircut. I tip toed around the house, hoping to sneak out without waking my children. I got dressed in the dark and used a manual toothbrush. (I forgot how exhausting that can be.) Unfortunately, my daughter woke up and demanded to know where I was going. If I told her the salon she would want to tag along, “I have to go to the doctor,” I said. My doctor’s office has a box of toys missing important parts and magazines published in 1998. “I will stay here with Dad,” she decided. My…