Kaspar got his first haircut this week—just in time for Thanksgiving. I’d been talking it up for days; Aaron promised me pre-pregnancy that if we ever had a little boy together, he could have a Mohawk until grew old enough to rebel and announce himself as a republican wanting a premature comb-over. I’m pretty sure Aaron thought the conversation a simple hypothetical at the time (hypothetical questions are my very favorite game. Such as: “Would you have gone on a second date with me if I’d been exactly the same as I am except for talking in a high-pitched voice and obsessively collecting Precious Moments figurines?”), but it came up again this fall when Kaspar expressed some frustration with his hair perpetually falling into his eyes (“Eeeyyyyes!”). It wasn’t Aaron I was talking the ‘hawk up to, though; he stuck to his word and agreed to it, no problem. It was Kaspar; I showed him some pictures and asked if he was in, then talked about clippers, and mimicked their sound—running my fingers along the sides of his head— for several days so that he wouldn’t be surprised by the actual experience. By the time we got to the barber-shop, which is less barbershop than Austin’s favorite hipster hair place (complete with bells and whistles like arcade games and free Shiner Bock... though no Bock for the babies, of course), he was pretty excited.
The day before Thanksgiving is evidently a popular time for haircuts, even at 10 a.m. We had a forty minute wait before Kaspar’s turn rolled around. He made himself at home flipping through magazines and manning a broom. The three hairdressers present had a rapid-turnover system down, and I could tell that they were interested in getting people in and out, getting paid, and getting out of there themselves. The usual laid-back hairdresser-hairdressee chatter wasn’t really in motion. Once Kaspar’s turn rolled around, our hair guy was all business. He had the booster cushion in the chair and asked what we wanted—no hello, no smile, etc.—and when I told him, he asked if I was sure, due to the clippers and all. I assured him we were ready, and he got to it. If I were to guess I’d say he wasn’t really a kid-person—he didn’t make any efforts to make Kaspar comfortable—but Kaspar was a total champ, and the cut was finished quickly. I realized afterward that the guy may have initially felt annoyed to be on first-haircut duty, thinking he’d have a crying kid on his hands; once he realized Kaspar was not that kid, he warmed up; he said “You look good!” to Kaspar when he was finished, and approached me when we were about to leave to tell me he’d noticed Kaspar’s scalp is a little dry, and to recommend I find some tea tree oil shampoo (we do our best to keep K’s scalp moisturized with a hypoallergenic shampoo, but I appreciated the gesture).
Kaspar does look good! He also loves his haircut. It’s attracting lots of attention from the ladies, and was a big hit at our Thanksgiving dinner (my parents were just in town for my birthday last week, so although Aaron’s mom invited us to Dallas, we opted to join some friends for dinner and keep it low key, party-style). He looks older to me, like the true toddler he is. And, while I’m always appalled by those beauty pageant parents who dress their children up like little dolls and rob them of their childhoods
, I figured that Kaspar was due for a haircut of some kind, and even if I asked for a very normal, straight-laced version, I’d still be making a decision about his appearance. That’s part of my job right now, until he speaks up about his own style (we try to encourage this, too, by involving him in choosing his clothes, shoes, etc.). So we went with the perfect (in my opinion... and Angelina Jolie's, but that's purely coincidental) combination of cute and cool, and Kaspar is straight up rocking it.