When I was pregnant with our first child and we found out at the ultrasound we were having a boy, my husband was, like most husbands, elated. A boy. A real boy.
I didn’t get what the big deal was. Boy, girl. A baby was all I wanted.
But I have come to appreciate the few practical advantages of having someone made up of frogs, snails, and puppy dog tails vs all that sugar and spice. The whole bathroom in the wilderness thing goes without saying. I’m talking about,
You see, when Kate was two and took scissors to her own hair, I had to desperately, (and unsuccessfully) hide the jagged short locks with barrets, headbands and gel. It took over a year to grow out. When she fell asleep with gum in her mouth and, as a result, got it matted into her scalp and pillowcase, it was a nightmare to undo.
But when Dean smashed and tangled his sticky gum into his soft, whispy bangs yesterday afternoon, the solution was easy! I got out the scissors and the clippers, and voila! Problem solved.
Lice, a bad haircut, spray-in hair dye from Halloween that won’t wash out, you name it. For boys, there’s a simple answer:
But I will say it does make my baby look terribly older. I miss his golden curls already.
So it’s a good thing Kate lets me french braid, curl and style her long, sunshine mane till my heart’s content each morning.