Pierce cut his hair. Again.
I haven’t fixed it. I’m still debating if I have to.
He came to me, so excited, telling me to look at him. I looked. I couldn’t figure out what I was looking at.
“My hair, Momma! I got a haircut!”
“Where did you get a haircut?”
“In the bathroom.”
Now that we have that cleared up. I searched his head and pulled chunk after chunk of white hair off his little head. “Why did you cut your hair? I just cut it last week!”
“To help you, Momma.”
Things are a little thin up there. He wants me to shave it all off so he can be like grandpa. If I comb it right, the spots are covered – and maybe he can keep his head warm for another month or two until the weather warms.
It didn’t occur to him he shouldn’t cut it. He was so excited. I didn’t have the heart to scold. I’m pretty sure we’re clear it ought not happen again. But, he has no recollection of his last self-created haircut. So… maybe I’m wrong.
My sister tells me none of her five children have done this. Liberty’s done it. Eden’s done it. Liberty’s cut Eden’s hair. Charlie’s done it. Pierce has done it twice. Apparently I need to hide the scissors. I’m a big fan of teaching the child instead of baby-proofing, but it would seem I’m losing on this one.