Well, it’s been two and a half years, almost, and the time had come. Phoebe wears a barrette in her hair every day. But she objects to having her hair combed, every day. She shrieks and cries and usually leaves the room as though it’s a bizarre and new request. Every day. So I thought a trim would help. Her hair would be shorter and easier to handle. But did I dread getting her in that chair.
To my knowledge (which is hardly extensive) they don’t have those special kids’ hair salons with seats shaped like race cars or horses in Rome. It seemed like that would have helped, plus stylists who are used to/immune to the objections of the under four feet crowd. So I took her to my salon, which Phoebe actually knows because it’s near our house and we often stop by to pet the owner’s Pomeranian named Lucy. Still, this lady was bound to want to comb Phoebe’s hair and it wouldn’t be pretty. Or maybe it would. With Estelle in the Bjorn, I turned my phone toward her and recorded this easy breezy experience. Who would’ve known?
Okay, so there isn’t any “cutting” in this video but she let the stylist put her in a chair, throw on a robe, comb out her hair then yes, cut it. And we have a keepsake.
While on vacation in Puglia Estelle learned to roll over!
Plus she’s just cute.
On the advice of a parenting website we consult often, we bought a little potty chair for Phoebe about a week ago. Just to get her used to the idea before potty training begins a few months (or more) from now. Fascinatingly, she uses it.
In the mornings, I usually get her up from her crib and bring her in. She sits right down and well, you know.
It doesn’t really work for the rest of the day though. For one thing, she can’t talk yet so there’s no cue for when she has to go. She also can’t walk so there’s no going on her own. But for a one year old, I’m so surprised that she uses it at all.
True, sometimes she leans down and uses it as a walker, sliding the plastic chair along our tile floor with a piercing screech, but otherwise she’s sort of brilliant in the bathroom.
Phoebe’s taken her first steps (Sunday, June 13 was the debut). In the space between Paul and I sitting on the floor, she happily toggles forward two, three, sometimes four steps before getting scooped up in one of our outstretched arms. Tickles, squeals and a few self-congratulatory claps follow.
It won’t be long, can’t be long, until she’s roaming entirely on her own. I’m sure the claps will continue.