Anyway, it was time to see whether I would dissolve into a blubbering mess when my own little cherub sat on the barber's chair. Pete's hair has recently come to resemble a rat's nest, albeit a fluffy blond one that it's fun to run your fingers through, and I can't be bothered with anything resembling a brush during the morning routine. That's why I chose to have a boy.
Hannah, whose emotional disposition is so much steelier than mine, opted to sit in the chair with Pete. When asked what we wanted, my request for "a Geordie cut" was met with a blank expression from the barber. We settled for "short all over" and the scissoring began. The baby, to give him credit, spent the entire time with a look of deep concentration on his face and displayed rather less concern than his parents.
It was all over quickly, and Cadbury's chocolate fingers were handed out to everyone who behaved themselves, although the barber also asked for $10. We left with an uncurled baby who will toughen up fast now that his insulation against the Canadian winter has been removed. We also have a family where everyone sports the same hairstyle - it's like the marines around here.
Something for the weekend, sir?
A little more off the side.
Suspicion.
Shaven, shorn, smiling.
And remember son, one day you may be able to grow your hair as luscious and attractive as your father's:
I too was beautiful once.
