I sat cross-legged on the floor, staring longingly at the remnants of Squeak’s lovely, luxurious hair grasped in one hand. In the other, I gripped the implement of destruction, those diabolical scissors. Tiny tendrils of her beautiful brunette locks drifted down around me like a hairy snowfall. Tears streamed down my face as I looked into Squeak’s unknowing eyes and contemplated the act of poor parenting I had just committed. In shame I confess this sin and force my hesitant fingers to type the horrific words… I gave my baby a mullet.
How did such a mishap occur? In the hopes of sparing other parents from this guilt and other babies from this travesty of style, I will share with you the story of how my baby went from adorable moppet to unfashionable mullet.
Even before her birth, we knew from our ultrasound technician that Squeak would have a full head of hair. The copious amounts of vernix seen in the grainy black and white photos were the clue. And then she was born and we loved her and we loved her hair. As her hair grew, we adorned it with barrettes, ponies, and headbands. She was a headturner everywhere we went. To my dismay, she quickly learned how to pull out the barrettes, the ponies, and the headbands. Over and over throughout the day, I would be once again attempting to secure her hair out of her face. It was to no avail. Squeak saw the world through a brunette veil.
One day, out of pure frustration and with little thought, I grabbed the scissors and told my husband to grab the baby. He held her firmly in his lap, her wandering hands out of harm’s way. My intentions were good as I made those first few clips. My inspiration was this photo of me at about the same age as Squeak, my delightful bangs perfectly framing my little cherub face:
After the first cuts, I stood back to admire my handiwork. It was crooked and uneven. I clipped a piece on the left that was too long. Then the right was too long. Clip, clip, clip. I believe it was about this point that the scissors took over. I was no longer in control. Clip, clip, clip. When I finally came to my senses and stepped away from the baby, it was too late. The damage had been done. My baby had become all business in the front and party in the back. She had a mullet. Also known as a Tennesse Waterfall, Squirrel Pelt, Canadian Passport, Mudflap, Neckwarmer, Achy-Breaky-Bad-Mistakey.
In retrospect, it is clear where I made mistakes. I cut impulsively and impetuously, during a moment of frustration. I cut while Squeak was alert and squirming and wiggling. I cut without first consulting the experts, otherwise known as my friends on Facebook, who offered fabulous words of wisdom after the fact: hair gel, bubbles and cartoons for distraction, cut while baby is sleeping, Flowbee. Their wisdom came to late for me and for Squeak. Hopefully, there are others out there who can benefit from these wise parents.
One last word of advice: The $10.95 you pay to have someone else cut your child’s hair is worth every penny!