Chelsea Kaplan’s Musings About Life... After Birth

This past weekend we took my son to get his first haircut. His blond, curly hair had recently morphed into quite the Isro (the Jewish version of the Afro), so my husband and I both agreed it was time.

I took this “before” photo to document its wild condition. Note that I got my son to look as “before” as possible, just like in those magazine photos where they show “before” women wearing no makeup, with these sad looks on their face (as contrasted with their glossy, “I’m so happy that I no longer look like Lindsay Lohan after a hard night partying” after pics):

I suggested that we take our son to the mall’s kid-friendly Cartoon Cuts in Virginia’s Tyson’s Corner (despite being previously dissed by their holiday festivities) for the shearing. My husband wasn’t overjoyed about visiting one of the country’s largest malls on a Sunday afternoon, but he agreed that it would probably be the best choice. As we were getting ready, my husband asked our son if he was “ready to go to the mall?”, to which he replied, “Linda!”. Apparently the numerous hours she and I have spent at the mall with our children has created in him somewhat of a Pavlovian response.

When we got there, the place was off the hook - it was like Grand Central Station meets Disneyland meets Supercuts. We stepped up to the counter and added our kid’s name to the waiting list (it should be about “5-10 minutes”, the receptionist said, almost as if we were waiting for a table at a restaurant), and took a seat in the tiny waiting area. Luckily, there were some toys, so the little guy was entertained.

As I glanced around the salon, I noticed that the chairs were filled with kids of all ages and strangely, a few Dads too. After seeing one guy get his hair washed underneath the salon’s elephant hose and then settle into a blue plastic chair opposite a tiny television blaring Dora the Explorer, I nodded at my husband. “Too bad you got yours cut last week,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. He rolled his eyes and groaned at the thought. “So like, do you think the dads like getting their hair cut here, or is it just like one-stop shopping - the kids get their hair cut, and then they just sort of figure they might as well too?” I asked. He assumed it was the latter, reasoning that a certain point as a parent, the degree to which you pay attention to your looks changes. I imagine that for most Dads, it’s relatively easy to lose concern for their appearances, probably because most don’t care that much to begin with. One day it’s ignoring the stains on your shirt, and the next day, you’re OK with getting your hair done at Cartoon Cuts.

My husband and I jumped after we heard out son’s name called, and we awkwardly stumbled over to the empty chair where we were greeted by Michelle, his stylist-to-be.  Perhaps thinking he was in for a trip to the doctor, my kid began crying, and my husband and I exchanged worried glances. Michelle, who had clearly done this before, suggested we sit my son on my husband’s lap and position him so that he could watch Elmo on Sesame Street.

We reconfigured the setup, and all was well. She placed a blue smock on my husband and then on my son, and the snipping began. My son wasn’t exactly sure what he thought of the whole process, as indicated by his “Dude, seriously, what the hell is this woman doing to me?” expression:

Eventually, thanks much in part to the efforts of Elmo and Ernie, he settled down and let Michelle do her thing. After taking a little off the back and sides, it was time to take off the blue smocks. He was a new man, a definite “after”. I gotta say, he looked great.

As we exited, Michelle gave us a “My First Haircut” certificate and gathered some of his hair in a little plastic baggie for us to take home. I know she does this kind of thing all the time, but I wanted to give her a hug. I always thought that the sheer chaos and cheesiness of Cartoon Cuts would be what would drive me to tears, but it was realizing that my little boy is day by day becoming a big one.

Perhaps next time, my husband will let Michelle take the scissors to him as well.