She’s 2 years old and I’ve never trimmed the length of Doughnut’s hair. Truth is I’ve never been ABLE to trim it because she just wouldn’t allow me. No amount of distraction can make her sit still for 2 minutes for me to do a quick snip; and no amount of coaxing, threatening, bribing or blackmailing can make her stay calm in a kids saloon for the hairstylist to do her job. Since birth, I’ve only been able to trim her fringe when she’s sound asleep once every 2 months or so, and so far, my proud collection of ‘ugly fringe photos’ has styles like the “ladder”, the “uneven ruler”, the “dog-bit-my-hair” and the “half-cooked”.
Many have commented that Doughnut has very nice hair, and I’ve never denied it. It’s thick, naturally wavy at the end and has that oh-so-nice baby hair smell that I’ll never get tired of sniffing. But, she has her bad-hair days too. Days when I feel like her mane looked more like an inverted mop. Or days when her unruly hair is splashed all over my face whenever there’s a strong wind blowing in our direction as I’m carrying her. Or days when she would just violently refuse to let me shampoo/ comb / touch her hair. And to top it off, on exactly days like these, I’ll be getting remarks like “Oh why aren’t you tying up her hair?”, or “Get her some nice hair clips!”. Trust me, I have spent a small fortune on hair accessories. The challenge was, and still is, to have them remain on Doughnut’s hair for more than 5 minutes.
Right after she turned 2 (and presumably is able to comprehend better), I sat her down one afternoon and told her that we needed to start tying up her hair. She looked at me, seemingly understanding what I just said. I gave her a choice of all the hair accessories I could find at home, from ladybug to butterfly to bumble bee hair clips, to colorful rubber bands and simple head bands. And of all things, she chose something that was not offered but she was most familiar with — a plastic clip meant for sealing plastic bags. My only consolation, it seemed, was that she chose a pink one.
And here she is, my big, big girl, with her messy hair all tied up, wearing a dress and not at all bothered with the kitchen hair clip she has on her hair, while I can now proudly announce that I finally know how it feels like to have struck lottery. There were occasional tantrums in the subsequent days but she seemed to have understood the need to have her hair combed and tied up so that she doesn’t look like Rapunzel.
And I’m proud as hell of my little Doughnut. And myself.