Little Man’s hair has been getting shaggy again, and he’s resisted getting a trim for the last few months. I hadn’t gotten one in several months, either (although this was more of a not making time than not wanting one), so I made appointments for us to go in yesterday.
“How short do you want to go?” I asked LM before we went into the shop. His hair was nearly in his eyes when he didn’t sweep it to the side and was covering his ears. He had mentioned wanting to grow it out long again, but that went out the window when I used the blow dryer on his hair last week.
LM shrugged. “I dunno. I just know that I don’t want it covering my ears anymore. I’m getting tired of not being able to hear anyone.”
I frowned. “I’m pretty sure that your hair isn’t causing hearing loss.” Maybe Princess Leia can get away with that excuse, but not him.
“That’s gotta be it,” LM insisted. “You guys always say I don’t listen, and my hair is over my ears, so that’s gotta be what the problem is.”
I chuckled. “I think that’s called being eight. Or having ADHD. I don’t think we can blame the hair just yet.”
So far that little theory of his hasn’t panned out. The distant looks and “Huh? What’d you say?” have still happened since that trim. Maybe the haircut just needs a little time to kick in.
Now for the girl…
Baby Girl has developed the habit of sticking her hands down her diaper lately. When I started to change her diaper today, she attempted to stuff her hand down her diaper before I could undo the sides.
“No, Baby Girl, don’t put your hand in there. That poop is nasty,” I told her, making a face.
She looked pissed — who am I to tell a two-year-old tyrant what to do?
“Mommy, that MY poop. That MY stinky butt. I do it.”