|After (with ice cream as a reward)|
Today, we tried something a little bit different. Rather than taking Derek to a salon, I had a stylist come to our house. I figured, in his own house, with the tv on to distract him, maybe Derek would be more comfortable.
I don't know what it is about haircuts--the sound of the scissors? The itchy hair on his neck? SOMETHING about having his haircut drives Derek up the wall. I wish he could tell me why it's so bad.
I guess today wasn't as bad as some days. He whimpered a lot and said, "NO" over and over again and tried to get out of my lap repeatedly. But he wasn't crying and screaming and kicking. I just HATE the look on his face--it's as if he is having to endure the worst possible torture on earth and I'M the one that's inflicting it. His eyes ask one question: Why are you doing this to me again?
I've thought seriously about letting his hair grow and letting him look like a little wild child. I have no problem with that. But HE seems to have a problem with his hair once it gets in his eyes. For the past two weeks he has seemed annoyed. So, I decided once again to cut it, despite my dread.
And boy, does he look CUTE.