The Haircut

Well, I didn't think it was possible, but Supercuts asked us to leave--ever so politely. "Perhaps we should try this again another day," they whispered. I don't know why they were whispering, because you couldn't hear much over the screaming wail that was coming out of Carter. He was fine when we walked in the door. He was fine when we were waiting. He was fine smiling at the hairstylist lady. He was not fine when he realized he was going to sit in that chair and get his hair cut. He screamed the most ear-piercing scream I've ever heard him perform. We only got as far as putting him in the chair and trying to put an apron on him. That alone took about five minutes. It was a rough start, and the hairstylist knew it was a useless situation. All the other men getting their cuts stared wide-eyed at the snot covered kid in the haircut chair. Most of them were wishing he'd stop screaming and leave them in peace. Well, humbled and somewhat humiliated, I left Supercuts, ushering Carter through the exit, barely noticing he was covered in the sticky, green lollipop they tried to give him while consoling him. I'm not sure, but I think we were kicked out of Supercuts.

We've had about five or so haircuts. I've lost count. Each time it gets worse. He is deathly afraid of the razor. Unfortunately, this does not bode well, as Carter inherited my thick, fast-growing hair. I dread the haircuts. One morning I'll realize his hair has reached that unkempt level, and I'll bite my lip in dread. After that point, I still wait about a month before I admit the need for his haircut out loud. What is funny is that Carter will hear me and joyously repeat, "Haircut!" I think he just tries to make me feel better, so I'll even attempt walking in the door.

After our Supercut ban, we went the next day to First Cuts in the mall. We had gone there for Carter's first haircut, and it was more expensive than Supercuts. I walked in timidly, knowing they would only smile at me on the way in and scowl as we left. So sad. The poor hairdresser was amazed at Carter's lung capacity, but, since this was a kid's haircut store, they couldn't really ask us to leave. I'm sure they get criers from time to time. They probably even have a Carteresque screamer once a day or so. Other hairdressers came to the aid of the poor lady doing Carter's hair. They brought toys and books and more toys. They blew bubbles and tried to distract him. I sighed and knew better. Only Thomas the Train on TV could get him to take 2 second pauses between the siren wail. I had them cut his hair EXTRA short--army cut short. I don't think I can do this again anytime soon. I cleaned up his snot covered, puffy face and left an enormous tip for the unlucky hairdresser. I was tired and relieved as we limped out of First Cuts. We survived and Carter's hair got cut. I'm not going to think about what I'll do in 2 to 3 months. I also can't imagine what going to the dentist with Carter will be like. I still have a year and a half to be in denial.