Here we are. The big reveal. The FIRST HAIRCUT. Now, to be fair, Nolan could have reasonably had his hair cut about 3 months ago. Strike that, I’m being ridiculous. Nolan could have had his hair cut straight from the womb, with a back wax thrown in for good measure. But once we could fashion elaborately coiffed up-dos and he demonstrated reasonable neck control, we were out of excuses not to cut it.
If you saw yesterday’s post, A Photo Retrospective of a Baby-Boy Wolverine, I’m sure you’ve been quite anxious these past 24 hours, wondering how little Nolan is doing without his prized feature. I suspect you’re on pins and needles right now. But, before Nolan’s new look is revealed, I’d like to give you a little family hair history. This will require you to contain your excitement for just a few more moments.
When I was born, in the very moment I was handed over to my mother, the doctor caught a look at the fur ball in front of him and said to my mom, “You gave birth to an ape!” That was music to my mom’s ears, as I’m sure it would have been to yours at the moment you met your offspring (if this were to happen to you by some lucky chance).
Here is a photo of me during my first weeks of life. Something may look familiar to you. Try to place it…
A few months after the above photo was taken, I had my very first haircut by Jimmy of S. James Company. My mom has been getting her hair cut by Jimmy for over 40 years, and Jimmy was the one to give my little sister Catherine her first ever haircut when she was a baby. Catherine still gets her hair done at that same salon, and so did I until well into my twenties. So, I think you can appreciate why it was really important to me to have Nolan’s first haircut with Jimmy. Have some sense of tradition, people!
In keeping with this tradition, on Saturday Nolan and my mom got their hair done together, because who doesn’t like a nice grandmother/grandson joint salon outing. Is that not a thing people do?
And now, without further ado, the photos:
Things were going well. Nolan felt GREAT, like this was just the change he had been waiting for. Perhaps a way to shake off the mid-year crisis he has been battling.
And then things went south. Way south. The winds of change turned, as they are want to do with a baby whose very world is being turned upside down. Nolan began to fully process what was happening; he sensed that he would no longer be able to catch the breeze in his flowing mane. That he would not be able to twirl his fingers in his tendrils before bed. That he would not have any hair to absorb the constant stream of baby vomit dribbling down his chin and past his ears. “Oh, hells to the no!” his eyes screamed. Also his mouth screamed.
Luckily, Nolan’s Grandpa Dan was on hand to run interference. This was a whole family affair. Grandpa Dan, sensing catastrophe based on the fact that Nolan was already howling like a rhesus monkey, sprung into action. He knew that rhesus monkeys also sometimes fling their own feces on the wall, and we did NOT want to walk that path at a SALON, of all places. We have standards in our family. Grandpa Dan knew that he would have to swallow his pride and literally kiss Nolan’s feet to turn this free fall around. And so he did.
The foot kissing was quite successful. Nolan regained his composure and re-adjusted his attitude. Sure, he had just gone through a massive trauma. But on some level I think he knew we were acting in his best interest. It’s a fine line between looking shaggy-cute and looking neglected, and Nolan knew we were walking that line.
As soon as the shorn hairs settled and Nolan had a minute to check out his reflection, he realized, hold up, I look FANTASTIC. His babbling was loosely translated to “I don’t even recognize the hobo baby I was when I walked in here 20 minutes ago. Who WAS that kid?”
Later the same day…