March 20th, 2010
I am thrilled to announce that today, for the very first time, I managed to successfully pig-tail my daughter. I feel like it’s some sort of milestone for me, as a mother. It marks the beginning of a new chapter in my relationship with my daughter — we are entering that complicated and frequently tumultuous world of hair styling.
I’m not going to lie. Getting her hair up into whaley sprouts was a fearsome endeavor that took about 20 minutes, multiple attempts, several tears (mostly hers, I fear) and a couple of cracker bribes and the results were still uneven at best.
Miss Mouse’s hair is uncooperative, to put it politely. It is super fine and doesn’t like to be parted in the middle (or anywhere). She’s got a cowlick in the back and a chaotic wave she inherited from her mother.
I inherited from my mother a lack of natural instinct when it comes to hair decor. I have vague and unpleasant memories of her helping blow dry my hair during my pageboy phase in middle school (I believe the source of the unpleasantness was pre-teen angst) and I know she graciously took a class once to learn to French braid. But overall, we never really “did” the whole hair thing. And once I got to high school, I cut it short and never looked back. My look now and forever more is “wash and wear.” A little gel to keep things under control, but that is absolutely all the time I’m willing to expend on my hair.
But I still love cute hair and secretly wish mine had been more obliging as I was growing up. And very few things are cuter than toddler girls with pigtails. And so I shall persevere.
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