I finally did it. After nearly three years, I took Dizzle to the salon and had her hair cut. Bye-bye baby hair, hello big girl style. Now I completely realize that it may seem crazy that it took that long (most kids I know lose their baby locks before their first birthday), but while Dizzle's hair grew, it really didn't grow down, but rather out. She has a head full of super tight curls, which everyone raves about, but honestly I could do without. It's hard to brush, it collects lint, and dries out if you wash it too frequently. But alas, her "baby 'fro" is all we've ever known. (Just a side note: It looks like Doodle is destined for the same fate.)
Although her hair reached her waist when wet, Dizzle probably could have gone until age eight without it coming past her shoulders when dry. However, after getting one too many comments about the mess on Dizzle's head in the pictures from Easter morning, I decided that action needed to be taken. So after several referrals from friends we headed off to Pigtails and Crewcuts (It's a chain ... awesome in every sense of the word. Take your little ones.)
I thought for sure Dizzle was going to freak, even at the thought of getting her hair cut. I mean, come on, she hates it when I wash, brush or put up her hair. But did she ever surprise me. As we pulled into the parking lot she said to me, "The hair cutter lady is going to cut my hair. Cut, cut, cut. And then I get a lollipop." I laughed to myself, thinking she was so cute, while at the same time I prayed they actually had lollipops, or I was going to be screwed. (Don't worry, they did.)
So we made our way inside and Dizzle got to pick out her chair. It was a tough decision between the airplane and the taxi cab, but ultimately the cab won out. So she hopped on in and put on the apron. (This is the point where I was sure full on tears were going to make an appearance.) The stylist (or hair cutter lady) sprayed and combed her hair, then started to cut. And what happened? Nothing. Dizzle was a champ. She sat there smiling, asking on several occasions, "We all done?"
When we were actually "all done," we brushed off Dizzle, paid and grabbed her souvenir photo and lock of hair. We (or rather I) had survived. And being the polite 34 month old that she is, Dizzle grabbed her lollipop, walked out the door and yelled back, "Thank you for cutting my hair!"
So what's happened since? Well, my little princess is convinced that she is the most beautiful thing going. (Honestly, let's be real. She is!) And in addition to her "Prom Queen" state of mind, she has asked me six times today if she can go get it cut again ... I am seriously in for a world of trouble.