My husband and I took our son for his first official haircut when he was 15 months old. The trauma of the event was not significant, but the energy exchange during the event was decidedly intense. My son went from sitting on my lap and enjoying the process while my husband entertained him to the opposite end of the spectrum, screaming and struggling to be let down. As you can imagine, it was an emotional roller coaster for all three of us.
For several months I’d been hearing from various "experts" on the issue things like, "He needs a big boy haircut!" or "I love his hair; the curls are adorable," or "She’s precious! Oh, sorry! He’s so beautiful I just assumed he was a girl." Geez! So despite the fact that I loved my son’s hair longer with curls peeking out from under the cap, I knew it really was time for a haircut. Still, something inside me desperately desired to keep my son as a baby for as long as I possibly could. The haircut was representative of the first apron string to be cut.
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