Momentous day around here. Five years, six months and one week of work, hard work, painful work, loving and loved work gone.
She's thrilled! I always said it was her hair and she could choose how she has it but I turned hypocrite when she wanted it shaved with lightening bolts like the class bad boy she loves. Yeah, um... no.
But today we went to the hairdresser and the little fashionista was quite at home in the chair. Explaining her desires to the hairdresser (above the ear) listening to the advice (a little longer) and agreeing with conditions (make it curly please). I could hear her chatting away to the assistant washing her hair as well. Such a difference from Meg who didn't speak to anyone but through me the entire time.
She was thrilled with the entire process and loves the outcome and thinks hairdresser might be a good career move to boot. Me? I feel responsible for creating a monster. A narcissistic monster- she can't walk past a reflective surface at the moment... And I'm taking a little longer to get used to it- it's so short and she lost all her blonde baby hair.