More hair, more cuts.

When there’s this much hair between the three of us, it’s really an unavoidable topic.

I took Devin to have his hair cut three weeks ago, thinking it would be a breeze like the previous three… four? times. He apparently read my mind, using that uncanny ability that all children seem to possess, and decided that not only would nobody be cutting his hair, but also that he wouldn’t be sitting on that stool, or in the chair on Mum’s lap, he wouldn’t be watching the fish light, he wouldn’t be eating any of the bribery biscuits – in fact, they can go on the floor – and he wouldn’t stop that whining and crying until we were safely back outside and Mum was suitably frustrated. The ladies were very nice about it, though.

This morning, I tried again. I was prepared. Jene loaded Wall-E onto the tablet for me, and I packed half a box of Jelly Belly jelly beans and a packet of mini Oreos in my handbag. Things went… slightly better. He still wouldn’t sit on the stool or have a cape over him, so I had a cape and he sat on my lap. The movie distracted him a little, the jelly beans even more so. He wasn’t particularly squirmy, but it still took almost 20 minutes to cut all of that hair (“Yep, quite short, please – it grows very fast!”) – by the end he was really desperate to get down and we were both covered in hair. But, it was done.

As the very nice and patient hairdresser was cutting it, she said, “I’m sorry, it’s not going to be the best haircut…” and I laughed and said, “That really doesn’t matter!” Honestly, there are days where he wakes up and his hair legitimately looks longer than the day before. It’s insane. (I think she did a pretty good job under the circumstances, anyway.)
I’ve said before that I like it longer and scruffy, but it’s getting warmer and he’s too hot. He’s a little furnace as it is – he wears summer pyjamas and only one blanket in bed in winter –  and the extra insulation on his head doesn’t help.

I wonder if he’ll rebel against us one day by deliberately wearing his hair extra short… A bit like The Rage In Placid Lake.

Hair. Goodness me.


Bringing up a baby in April

Horse paddocks near our house. (Horses camera- and Devin-shy.)

A clingy mister.

An amazing shampoo makeover.

A lunch outside.

A lesson in bocce with a not very attentive pupil.

Tantrum Face.

The precursor to Tantrum Face; Oh My Gosh You Are So Mean Why Are You Doing This To Me How Can You Even Live With Yourself Face.

Seems like a cheerful outing? NO. This was the Walk From Hell. It was… I just… ugh, I can’t even talk about it. Possibly the angriest I’ve ever been with Devin.

This was clearly before the fun started…

And this was not long before the total meltdown. You can picture him as a moody teenager already, can’t you? I can…

Giant Baby Plucks Aeroplane From Sky…

… Proceeds To Cry For Mummy.

A trip to pick up Grandma from work.

What a whingy month. May isn’t looking much better.

And that dummy really has to go.

On the flip side, he is being pretty hilarious lately. During his breaks from whiiiiiining.

Twos Blues

Whenever I hear or read the phrase ‘terrible twos’, I find myself incapable of controlling my rolling eyes. I know it’s a generalisation, but it’s such a broad and inaccurate one, like ‘morning’ sickness. I wish they’d both fall out of the lexicon.

If ‘terrible twos’ are characterised by temper tantrums, screaming for no reason, banging head on things and not listening, than Devin’s been in his terrible twos since he was 12 months old. I’m actually hoping that 24 months brings some respite, because things can’t get much more terrible. Unless he starts a tantrum tomorrow morning and continues until his second birthday. Which, at this point, does not seem like an entirely hyperbolic idea.

After an almost-two hour nap recently, he woke up and started whining softly in his room, as usual. But when I opened the door to get him… well, obviously it was the END OF THE WORLD and someone forgot to tell me. Instead of jumping up, ready to be whisked away, he threw himself back and cried. Then he kicked his legs around and screamed. I moved to comfort him, and he kicked harder and screamed louder. I sat back and waited. I started to leave the room. It just wasn’t stopping. I finally picked him up in a football hold (the only way that works when he throws the arms-above-head Plank move) and took him outside. That usually works.

Nope. More screaming and crying.

Back inside, I went right to the end of the house to my parents’ bedroom, closed the door, sat on the bed, turned on the TV and found an orchestra performing the Star Wars soundtrack, then turned the volume up. Devin finally stopped his MegaTanty and went limp with his head on my shoulder.

Deep sigh.

I have no idea what his problem was. He’d been exceptionally good that morning, too.

That, in a nutshell, is why the idea of the terrible ‘twos’ seems ridiculous to me. We all know toddlers throw tantrums and misbehave. Let’s just say that.

Don’t even get me started on people who say ‘just wait until three – that’s way worse than two.’ You know, thanks for the support and for projecting your personal experience onto everyone else’s. Basically even if that is true, I don’t think it helps to know about it. One, what am I supposed to do? Spend the next 18 months dreading Devin’s third birthday? Two, you could read all you want about how to deal with tantrums and such, and still be blindsided when it actually happens. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about parenting, it’s that you will never, ever be prepared for everything.

Another thing I’ve learned about parenting, though, is not to say words that your toddler knows unless you’re actually going to give them a bath or some milk.

Also, don’t open cans of soft drink within earshot of your toddler unless you like playing ‘keep away’ while trying to have a drink.