Wednesday, 15 June 2011

First Haircut

The second she started to snip, John started to scream.

He sat on the stuffed burgundy cushion, his little body as stiff as the squeaky leather seat beneath him, gripping my arm as tightly as he could and looking small and scared and vulnerable.

Then, as the scissors started to snap and the comb started to scratch, he opened his mouth wide in terror and let out the most honest of screams.

And as his soft downy hair filled the air and tickled our cheeks, and my boy screamed at his frightened, sobbing reflection in the mirror, I held his hand and stroked his knee whilst whispering "It's ok, it's ok, it's ok."

And although I'd spent months agonising over the right date for this milestone, and weeks debating the decision with friends, and even though just moments before the scissors snapped I'd felt panic rising in my chest at the thought that the final part of his babyhood was about to be cut off for good; as his beautiful blond curls fell softly about my feet, I was at peace with the reassuring words that I whispered.

Because I knew with all my heart that my little boy was beautiful and that he was loved, and that no kind of haircut could ever change the truth of those fundamental facts.


  1. Even more handsome (if that is possible).

    Mine quickly learned that haircut meant special barbers lollipop. Though now of course we have reached the age of not wanting it cut as a style statement. Less easy to bribe as they get bigger too.

  2. Oh dear, I know just how he felt!
    And I know how you felt -I remember my eldest having his first hair cut and losing his baby curls.

  3. He looks very distinguished! I used to pop mine in a high seat in front of the TV with something edible to occupy their hands - luckily we had a visiting hairdresser!

    Pomona x